Angel of Vengeance
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Bodies begin piling up all over D.C. and all of the victims have one thing in common: Timothy McGee. Who is this mysterious killer and what connection does she have to the team's greenest member? Set in Season 2. Rated for graphic material and language.
1. Chapter 1

She watches as he downs another beer. The alcohol has already started to take effect on his body. He slurs. He lurches forward. His eyelids droop. He doesn't seem to notice that she has been pouring her own drink into his glass, doubling his intake with each round of drinks.

She's in no mood to drink anyway; she wants to be levelheaded and prepared for later tonight.

"So you're a Marine?" she asks, giving him her best Betty Boop look: eyes wide and bright, lips pursed into a tight 'o.' She leans forward as well, making sure her plentiful cleavage is visible.

He drinks in the look with the same smoothness and swiftness with which he drinks his beer. To his eyes—though slightly glossed with the mid-stages of inebriation—the woman who sits across from him looks at him with the awe and admiration a person of religion might use when looking upon the face of God. The comparison makes him smile.

"Yes, miss, I am," he says, gently chucking her under the chin for good measure. She giggles at the touch. It's a ditzy giggle.

"You're so strong," she coos as she grabs one of his muscles. Instinctively, he flexes it, making the bicep grow in size within her tiny hand. "I bet you were a jock in high school."

"Wrestling," he tells her proudly. "I also played some baseball and football, but wrestling was my real talent. My…uh…whadaya call it? Fort…for…"

"Forte?" she supplies, her airhead essence slipping momentarily.

"Yeah…what you said…"

She sidles up next to him, her body pressed against his. Her hands are in his hair; her well-manicured fingers are running up and down his head. One finger trails along his ear and a groan resonates deep within his throat. She grins and presses her mouth against his ear. "I'll bet you were a big man on campus," she whispers, her breath tickling his ear. "I bet you made all those nerds and geeks cower."

The man laughs, though nothing she's said has been particularly funny. "Did I!" he crows before downing yet another glass of beer. He slams the glass down on the bar and then wraps his arm around her waist, attempting to pull the petit woman onto his lap. "I could snap my fingers and have them shaking."

"Really?" Her cherry-colored mouth twitches upwards into a smirk.

He flexes his bicep once again. "They knew better than to mess with me." He pauses; a memory comes back to him. One particular kid—scrawny little thing, two years his junior, but with a brilliance that was unmatched by anyone else at the high school—appears in his mind's eye. The memory he has is pleasant for him, though it's one he is sure the young boy he remembers has scrubbed his brain clean of.

"What?" she asks with great interest, catching his small smile. He is silent, lost in the memory, and she badgers him, poking at him. "Tell me!"

"It's nothing really," he says with a shrug. "Just remembering this one kid. What was his name…?" He verbally begins reciting last names, trying to find that one name. "McBeth? McIntyre? McGregor? McGee?" At that last one, his eyes light up in remembrance. "Yeah! McGee!" he confirms with a nod of his head.

A new glass of beer appears for him. She had motioned to the bartender while he'd been going through every "Mc" surname he knew. He picks this one up and downs half of it in one giant gulp. "Boy, McGee! We put that kid through hell! Like this one time…" He cuts off and laughs. "One time, we found this toilet in the boys' locker room bathroom and it was just _filled_ with shit! I mean, there just wasn't a clear spot anywhere in there!" He laughs again. He's becoming giddy. "So anyway, the thing's clogged and we can't flush it and in this kid, McGee, walks in. So we figure, 'Hey! Why not use him as a plunger?'" He doesn't continue the story or elaborate on what he meant. She is not stupid, despite her bimbo façade; she gets what he means.

"Aw, poor little fella," she says while walking her fingers up along his arm. "What'd he do to anger you guys?"

He shrugs, unsure himself. "Nothing really. Just was one of those geeks, you know?" Another sip. "Not just a geek really. Kid was, like, a certifiable genius or something. He was, like, fifteen and taking advanced classes on stuff I still don't understand." He pauses. A sobering moment. Is that a twinge of remorse, a twinge of guilt? "When you get right down to it, I guess it was mostly jealousy and anger on our parts."

He finishes the beer. She watches on in satisfaction.

"Boy…McGee. What was his first name? Tom or something? Haven't thought about him in years."

"I'm sure he's thought about you plenty," she says in a very dry tone.

"Yeah. I should look him up, see how he's doing. Probably owns Microsoft now or something. Maybe he has a mansion with millions of dollars and two Playboy Bunnies on each arm. Showed us, huh? Maybe I should invite him out for a drink…or two…or ten…"

He blinks and rubs his eyes. "I've lost count. How many beers was that?" She shrugs. "More than I usually drink."

He stands and stumbles, catching himself on the bar. He pushes himself up and waits, hoping the dizziness will subside. He doesn't remember drinking so much. Maybe the beer here has a higher alcohol content than other places.

"Oh, you poor thing," she says. She wraps her arms around him, steadying him. "I'll get you in your car and bring you home."

"Yeah," he slurs. "You need to take me home and tuck me into bed…and you can join me." He laughs again.

She fishes his car keys from his pocket. Then together they walk out the door to the parking lot. She sits him in the passenger seat and buckles him in nice and tight. From her purse, she extracts a pill box and a bottle of water. "Take these, sweetie," she whispers. He opens his eyes and looks at the two pills she's holding out.

"Wha…"

"They'll help with the hangover."

He closes his eyes and groans. Taking matters into her own hands, she drops the pills in his open mouth, followed by a generous amount of water. He does the rest, downing the pills dutifully.

She slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. She looks over at the Marine; out like a light. She has time…lots of time.

"Don't worry, sweetie," she says to him, caressing his forehead. "I'm going to take really good care of you."

They pull out onto the road, but they aren't going to his place. She's got a nice little area all set up for him.

"I know exactly what you need."

* * *

**AN:** So this story is a follow-up to a one-shot I wrote a while back entitled _My New Kitten_. While it's not necessary to read that story in order to appreciate and understand this one, it may clear up a few questions right off the bat.

**Warning:** This fic will eventually contain graphic descriptions of torture and killing. You have been warned.


	2. Chapter 2

"C'mon, McGee!" Tony groaned for what seemed like the fifth time in three minutes. "How long could this possibly take?"

"Tony, you have trouble logging on to the internet, so I don't think you're the best person to berate McGee on his computer skills," Kate commented with a sly smirk.

The younger agent was staring intently at his computer screen, the on-going spat barely even reaching his ears. Any outside noise was drowned out by the loud thumping of his nervous heart. He was also beginning to sweat, not because the task at hand was so tedious and difficult, but because he knew that if he got caught doing this, especially on company time, Gibbs would have his ass. Just a few more keystrokes and…

His head snapped forward as a result of Tony's head slap. "McGoo! Get cracking, will you? If I don't get tickets to that show, Trixie will throw me out like yesterday's garbage!"

Tim glowered but continued. "Maybe you shouldn't have waited until the day of the show to get tickets for Madonna's comeback tour…" he muttered.

"What was that, Probie?"

"Nothing," he replied with a sigh. He'd found it was better not to fight with Tony. Compliance made the big brother/little brother relationship easier. "I think I may be able to squeeze you guys into the eighth row of the second balcony."

"Not good enough, Probie!"

"Tony, most of the seats are already taken by customers who actually paid for their tickets! The best I can do for you is try to free up some seats that the arena currently has on hold. They're not going to be A-class seats!"

"I don't want excuses, McGee; I want results!"

"I do too," Gibbs bellowed as he entered the squad room, his obligatory cup of coffee firm in his hand. "Gear up!"

"Got a case, boss?"

"Would I have told you to gear up if we didn't, DiNozzo?" Gibbs grabbed his own badge and Sig, hooking them to his waistband. "We've got a dead Marine in Alexandria. The local LEOs have identified him as Cpl. Daniel Wickmar."

A loud thud caused Gibbs, Tony, and Kate to turn around to where the greenest team member stood. Tim had dropped his bag upon hearing the name and his face was ashen, his green eyes wide in shock. "D-Daniel Wickmar, boss?"

"You know him, McGee?"

Tim glanced down and saw his fallen bag laying there. He sheepishly scooped it back up, holding it firmly over his shoulder. "Yeah," he replied softly as he stepped ahead of them onto the elevator. "Yeah, we went to high school together."

Kate eyed the young man with concern. "He a friend of yours, McGee?"

Tim opened his mouth and his head began to shake no; then he stopped and opted to shrug instead. "He was someone I knew," he told them vaguely, giving his team mates the distinct impression that he wasn't telling them the entire story. But this was not the time to hear Tim's life story, especially not stories of his high school days which they all suspected involved at least a little bit of bullying. So the subject was dropped for the time being.

In the back of the elevator, Tim fidgeted with the strap of his bag. His teeth were gnawing violently, a childhood habit he often reverted back to in times of great stress.

Daniel Wickmar. While the man was someone he hadn't talked with in quite some time, he had _seen_ Cpl. Wickmar only three weeks earlier when he and Tony had gone to Quantico during an embezzlement investigation. Tim had been shocked to come face to face with a malicious figure from his past and had clammed up, letting Tony conduct the entire interview while he stood to the side mute. Wickmar hadn't even recognized the young man who had once been the target of his high school torments. Tim, though, remembered the face—he remembered every line and crevice—and it had taken much inner strength to keep from rehashing past grievances.

He hadn't told Tony about it of course. No doubt the senior agent would dissolve into a fit of snickers when Tim related his high school days. That night, though, Tim had felt the urge to tell _someone_ bubble up inside. So he'd called Chris Blanchard, a friend and fellow bully-target of his from high school, to let him know who he'd run into. Together they'd lamented their high school days until Tim had finally had to call it a night. In a strange, perhaps pathetic way, it was comforting to talk with someone who had been there, who had gone through the same things he had gone. It was like his own private support group.

"You coming or not, McGee?"

Tim looked up and saw that the elevator had reached its destination. The team was waiting not-so-patiently for him to get in the truck.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he muttered.

It was just too bad he got so little support at work.

* * *

The sight at the Alexandria park in which Cpl. Wickmar had been dumped was one of the more grotesque ones Tim had seen during his time with NCIS. Actually, the sight itself wasn't so bad; it was the _smell_ that really got to him. The smell was not common to crime scenes as it wasn't simply the rancid smell of a dead body; this scent had a none-too-wonderful additive. Apparently, the rest of the team agreed with him on that one.

"Phew!" Tony groaned, waving his hand in front of his nose. "Did ever dog in a ten block radius take a collective dump here or something? Wish I hadn't left my Vicks at the office."

The body of Wickmar lay face-down in the grass with his hands bound behind his back. He was still wearing his military uniform, though it was now covered with grass stains, blood, and a few suspicious looking brown spots. Flies buzzed freely above him, walking about his lifeless frame.

"Flies are already zoning in," Kate commented. "He must have been here for a while."

Tony squatted down beside the body and examined the face of their dead Marine. Aside from the expression of horror and fear which his eyes and mouth had frozen into, there was another disturbing feature on his face. "Actually, Kate, I think that may have more to do with the crap covering his head."

"What do you-" she began to ask as she too squatted down. Then she stopped and nearly vomited. Cpl. Wickmar's face was covered in what—based on sight and scent—could only be bits of feces.

Tony stood, hand clamped over his nose. "Man, this guy would have gotten a bad case of pink-eye if he had survived."

Gibbs jumped in, doling out tasks. "Kate, talk to witnesses, starting with the guy who found him; Tony sketches; McGee, you…" he trailed off as he turned to the young agent. Tim was pale and was visibly trembling. He looked apt to upchuck at any moment. "McGee?" he asked. "You okay?"

The voice was a million miles away in Tim's mind. As he stood there, looking down at the former bully, a memory was pulled forth, a memory he thought he'd tucked away and locked up tight…

"_Hey! Maybe geeks make good plungers!"_

"_C'mere, dork!"_

"_Guys…guys, please!"_

"_Don't worry, McGeek! This won't hurt a bit!"_

"_Remember to hold your breath!"_

His eyes were closed as he felt it happen all over again. He felt the water submerge his head, covering his screams for help. He felt the disgusting bits of…_stuff_ floating around in the water. He smelled and tasted it, rushing into his mouth and nostrils. He was pulled out, coughing and hacking. A line of brownish drool dripped from his mouth as he gasped for breath between angry sobs.

And then it was back in…

He'd once told Tony that he'd never had a swirlie. It was true. This had been far worse than a swirlie.

"McGee!"

Gibbs' bark pulled him from his trance. The older man was staring at him with a mixture of perturbation and concern.

"What's the matter? Smell getting to you?"

Tim didn't answer, nor did he nod or shake his head. He continued looking at the dead Marine. Gibbs could only imagine what vicious scene was playing out inside the young man's head. Had this dead man been a tormentor? Was Tim feeling relief and satisfaction? Or, perhaps, guilt?

He handed the camera to Kate. "Kate, you do photos. McGee, interview." He knew he wouldn't pull the truth from Tim at the moment, but the least he could do in the meantime was make sure the young agent was as far from the body as possible.

But Tim didn't move. He gulped, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He was beginning to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the heat. Yes, he decided, it was the heat; the heat and the smell.

It took a not-so-gentle prod from Gibbs to get Tim into motion. He closed his eyes and made the trek to where the police were standing with the unfortunate morning jogger who had stumbled upon the ghastly sight.

Gibbs watched his youngest agent walk off, an uneasy feeling churning about in his gut. When they got back, he and Tim would have a talk. Something told him that Tim's reaction to the body had to do with more than just the horrid smell.

The young and brilliant computer geek was hiding something from him, and that didn't sit well with Gibbs.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks for the reviews, guys! Someone asked if this story would take place in Season 2 like _My New Kitten_, and as you can see, it will indeed!


	3. Chapter 3

She lies on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. A smile decorates her face as she thinks about the night. It had been a long night, longer than she'd thought it would be. But it had been well worth it.

She turns onto her stomach, pulling her pillow against her cheek. Her eyelids flutter shut. She remembers it very vividly—her memory has always been one of her strong points—and it makes her insides tremble with arousal. She only wishes she'd recorded it to show him…

_He'd come to after only an hour. She had been sitting across from him, just watching. He wasn't a bad looking guy. Under other circumstances, she could see herself dating him. It had come as a surprise that he hadn't been that cocky. Sure, once she'd gotten a good amount of alcohol in him, he'd reverted back to his high school ways, talk of hazing and bullying filling the conversation. But even then, there'd been a sense of remorse and realization within him._

_She almost felt bad about what she had planned._

_He lifted his drooping head as he pried open his eyes. A stream of drool had dribbled from his mouth onto his shirt. "Where…?" he slurred uncertainly._

"_Hello, sweetie," she cooed. "How are you feeling?"_

_He blinked as his eyes focused on the sight of her. He moved his arms, furrowing his brow as he realized that his hands were tied behind him. "What…what is this? This some kind of sex fetish?"_

"_You men," she sneered. "Is that all you think about?"_

_He groaned. No doubt the drug had left him with a headache. "Baby, I'm not into this bondage stuff…and I don't think I could even get it up right now." Another groan._

_She stood and walked over to him. As he watched with wary eyes, she straddled his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Are you ready for a long night?" she asked with a teasing smile._

"_I think I need to get home." _

"_Oh, but darling, we're just getting started!" She leaned in, placing her mouth beside his ear. "I've got something special planned."_

"_Baby, I—" His words morphed into a scream as she sank her teeth into his earlobe. What followed was a string of curses. _

_She sat up with a grin. Her bite had broken the flesh and his blood stained her teeth. "Don't call me 'baby.'"_

"_What the fuck is wrong with you?" he spat out as she stood._

_She didn't respond. She was too busy surveying her table of tools. She ran her hands over them, stroking them lovingly. "So you enjoy beating up geeks, do you? Showing them what a strong, tough man you are?" She plucked a nail gun from the table. It felt natural in her grip. "Let's see just how tough you are, sweetie."_

It had taken longer than she'd expected, but he had broken eventually. There was nothing so satisfying as seeing a man like him—a man who had been a source of torment for others—break down in tears.

The long session hadn't only been for her own pleasure. Through it she had gotten information from him. In exchange, she had put him out of his misery, albeit in a humiliating and terrifying way. She'd found it befitting, though.

She turns back over onto her back and sits up. Beside her bed is a list of names. She picks it up and looks it over. Cpl. Wickmar had been quite the fountain of information. She had hoped he would be; she didn't want it to end with him. Now she knows exactly who she needs to look for, who deserves punishment.

She can't wait to see his face when she tells him, when he sees what she's done.

She stifles a yawn. She's exhausted; she has, after all, had quite a long night. She has much work to do, but depriving herself of sleep won't do much good. She replaces the list and snuggles under her sheets. As she sleeps, she dreams of him.

If this doesn't make him take notice, nothing will.


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you know, Duck?" As usual, Gibbs was straight to the point. Small talk wasn't in his nature, especially not when a dead Marine was lying on an autopsy slab.

"I know that our young Corporal's demise was not pleasant," the ME said without even looking up. "How is Timothy faring?" Ducky, with his medical training, had immediately noticed Tim's pale complexion and sickly demeanor when he'd arrived on the scene. It wasn't hard to see that the young man had been shaken to the core.

Gibbs had sent Tim down to Abby's lab with the blood samples and fingerprints. If anyone could help Tim recoup—or, at least, force him to confess what was bothering him—it was the energetic lab rat. "He's doing fine."

Ducky wasn't convinced, but he knew the gruff agent well enough to know when to let a subject drop. He'd check up on Tim later. "Well, our Cpl. Wickmar suffered at the hand of his killer, quite painfully I must say." He led Gibbs to where the Marine lay, now naked and unbound. Painful red injuries covered his body.

"He was tortured?"

"Nails," Ducky explained, pointing to a tray where the recently extracted nails lay. "The precision and cleanliness with which they were inserted leads me to believe they were shot with a nail gun rather than forced in with a hammer."

"I'm guessing this wasn't post mortem."

"Unfortunately, no. The poor man was very much alive during the ordeal."

Gibbs looked down at the savaged, wrecked body. He couldn't imagine the pain the man must have gone through; his death must have come as a relief. "Cause of death?"

"He was drowned, but that's where it gets strange." Gibbs couldn't imagine the situation getting any stranger than it already was. "When I examined Cpl. Wickmar's lungs and esophagus, along with water I found a copious amount of fecal matter."

That was certainly strange, Gibbs had to agree. Anyone could see that the Cpl. had been covered with the stuff; but to find it inside his lungs…that was a bit different. "You saying he…"

"He breathed in the fecal matter as he was being drowned."

"Our Marine was drowned in a toilet filled with crap?"

"That would be my guess."

Gibbs suppressed a grimace. "Adding insult to injury," he commented. "Someone really wanted this guy to suffer. Thanks, Duck." He turned to leave but was stopped by the older man's voice.

"There's more, Jethro." He beckoned Gibbs to the table and motioned for him to help turn over the dead Cpl., a difficult task considering rigor mortis had set in hours prior. When they managed to get him onto his stomach, Gibbs saw what his ME was talking about. There on the man's back was the image of a 'V' surrounded by a pair of wings. At first glance it looked like a tattoo; it was only when he reached out and touched it that he realized what it was.

"He was branded," Gibbs said, feeling the dead man's skin, still raised and tender from the hot iron which had pressed there. "Also pre-mortem?"

"I believe so, yes."

Gibbs' fingers outlined the brand. His stomach churned, sickened by the sight. "Wickmar wasn't a weakling. Someone would have had to overpower him…someone of similar or greater strength."

"You think this is the work of a man?"

"Unless you've got something that says otherwise."

"I sent the contents of the stomach to Abby, so you'll have to wait for the results from her. It is possible that our young Marine was drugged. Or perhaps he was ambushed and this is the work of a group rather than a single individual."

Gibbs offered a slight smile as he helped turn the dead man onto his back again. "Don't say that, Duck; you'll increase my work load." The ME did have a point, though. If given enough drugs, even the most muscular man could drop like a fly.

"What is your world famous gut telling you, Jethro?"

The man examined the corpse once more, the face that was still twisted in a look of horror. As he studied Wickmar, the man's face morphed into Tim's, taking on a terrified and concerned look. Wickmar's eyes became Tim's large, expressive green ones; his mouth formed into Tim's perpetual pout. It was unsettling to say the least.

"Right now it's telling me that there's something McGee isn't telling me."

"Do you think it's pertinent to the case?"

Gibbs didn't know, nor did he care. Regardless of the connection between Cpl. Wickmar and the young agent, it was obvious that this case was troubling McGee, that it had opened up a proverbial Pandora's box in the computer geek's mind. One of his team members was in trouble and he needed to fix that.

"Let me know if you find anything else," he said as he strode out, avoiding the question that had just been presented to him.

His next stop was the lab, but he wasn't going empty-handed.

* * *

"Find anything interesting, McGee?"

The young agent didn't look up from his place as he shrugged. His arms were folded in front of him on the table, his chin resting on top of them. His mouth was formed in a frown, same as it had been when he'd entered her lab almost hours ago.

Abby recognized her friend's reticence, his dour mood. It worried her, especially when Gibbs had told her specifically to keep an eye on Tim. He wasn't the kind of guy one generally needed to keep an eye on. Abby, being Abby, had made it her day's goal to pull him from his sudden bout of ennui. She slid into a chair beside him, twirling it around the way a small child might. She gave him a grin. "Did I tell you I got a new tat?" When he made no sound or motion—no indication that he had even heard her question—she continued on. "No one else has seen it yet. Well, except for my tattoo artist, obviously. Did you want to see it?" she asked with a sly grin.

Their on-again, off-again relationship had been on the off switch for the past year, a decision made by her more than by him. But Abby knew Tim's feelings for her, knew they still ran rampant. He always salivated at the chance to see a new piece of body art.

"That's okay," he mumbled.

She sighed in exasperation. "What's wrong, McGee?"

"Nothing."

"So why have you been sitting there moping for the past hour?"

He shrugged once again.

She folded her arms indignantly and leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed on Tim. In the day since she'd seen him last, Tim had managed to build up a solid brick wall between him and the rest of the world. It was out-of-character and it worried her more than she would admit. "You need to snap out of it," she said bluntly. Pussyfooting hadn't helped anything; it was time to throw tact out the window. "Whatever's got you all depressed, you need to get over it before Gibbs gets down here."

"He's already here."

The voice caused Tim to sit up straight and swivel around; his expression, though, remained the same. There was no worry or surprise in him, the two emotions that often accompanied the sudden appearance of his gruff boss. His expressive eyes remained empty with an emotion Gibbs couldn't quite discern. His mind wasn't on the job at hand.

"Hey, Gibbs," Abby said, grateful for the man's presence. Tim's mood was starting to rub off on her.

Gibbs hadn't come without his usual token of appreciation. In each hand he held a 40oz plastic cup which contained the red, caffeine filled drinks known as Caf-Pows, a coffee substitute for people who didn't like coffee; guaranteed to get your neurons running faster than a marathon runner. He gave one to Abby, who accepted it gratefully; the other he placed before Tim. The young agent didn't even acknowledge its presence.

"What have you got, Abbs?"

"I'm still running the prints. So far, I've got nothing."

"Blood samples?"

"All of the blood belonged to Cpl. Wickmar. I was able to pick a couple of foreign hairs off his uniform, though. They don't have the root, so no DNA, but they're not Wickmar's," she said, holding up a sample bag. Inside were strands of long, blonde hair.

"Is that all you've got?" he asked, teasingly reaching out to re-claim the Caf-Pow.

Abby pulled it away, cradling it in her arms like a precious stone. "You really need to work on being more patient, Gibbs. I always leave the best for last." She placed the cup to the side as she brought something up on the computer screen. "I analyzed the stomach contents Ducky sent up to me. The Corporal's last meal was a McDonald's Big Mac with no pickles and a side of fries."

"Please tell me this isn't what you consider to be 'the best part,' Abbs."

"Oh, ye of little faith, Gibbs!" she chided. "I also found out that the Cpl. was a Budweiser fan; a _big_ fan based on his blood-alcohol level."

"He was drunk?"

"And then some, Gibbs."

The special agent nodded. "Makes sense. In that state, it was unlikely he could have fought off an attacker."

"That's just the whipped cream on the sundae. Our Cpl. was also doped with Alprazolam."

"In my language, Abby."

"Xanax."

"A sedative."

"Bingo."

Alcohol and sedatives were a deadly combination, though, in this case, perhaps not deadly enough. Surely Cpl. Wickmar would have preferred to go that way rather than the long, drawn-out death he suffered. The mixture was a good indication of the man's state of mind during his final hours. Even if he had still been conscious, he wouldn't have had the strength to fight off a five-year-old.

"That's good work, Abbs. Keep me informed."

"Don't I always?"

Normally, this would have been when Gibbs made his exited, going on to the next leg of his rounds. This time, though, he remained in his place and turned to Tim. The young agent was still sitting in the same spot, eyes staring unseeingly at the Caf-Pow that sat before him.

"McGee," he said gently.

Tim's head didn't move; only his eyes moved to where Gibbs stood. The usually gruff former Marine didn't look angry or annoyed; he didn't look ready to chew Tim out or give a hard smack to the back of his head. Instead, Gibbs' face held something almost foreign to Tim: compassion. "Yeah, boss?" he asked quietly.

"Do you have anything to tell me?"

He thought about the question for a moment. "No," he replied quietly, "nothing."

"Nothing?"

Tim had been given the task of looking through the Marine's computer for any clues as to why someone would want to torture and kill him. "No," he repeated with more confidence. "He didn't have any sensitive or classified information on his computer or in his files. His online history showed that he was a regular on Yahoo, , Facebook, MySpace, The Official Marine Corps website, and…erm…" He sputtered off with his cheeks pink. "He, uh, frequented a number of pornographic websites."

"Anything else, McGee?"

The young agent found himself turning away from the eyes of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Those cold blue eyes were all-seeing. "No, boss, that's it."

Gibbs considered the answer, nodding his head as though in understanding. He'd given Tim the chance to open up in his own way and Tim had refused. Gibbs needed to take matters into his own hands. "Conference room," he said in a soft tone. "Wait for me. I'll be there in ten minutes."

Tim's eyes widened in shock. "C-conference room?" he sputtered. "B-but why, boss?"

"Some thing we need to discuss."

"Like what? I'm fine!"

"Nearly barfing at a crime scene is not fine, McGee."

It was on the tip of Tim's tongue to remind Gibbs that the first time they met he'd almost barfed at the crime scene; he wasn't so petulant, though, as to remind his superior of that fact. "Boss, I mean it, I'm fine."

"You can't bullshit me, McGee. If you're not in the conference room when I get there, I'll send you home in a forced absence of leave and require a visit to an agency-approved therapist.

"B-but I'm okay! It's just stupid high school stuff!"

"And you can tell me all about it later," Gibbs commented as he walked out.

In his wake he left a confused and stammering Timothy McGee. The computer geek wiped away a sheen of sweat that had begun to form along his forehead. "W-what is he talking about?"

"Gee, I don't know," Abby said almost snidely as she went about her work. "Might have something to do with the fact that you've been doing a spot on Eeyore impression since you got back."

"Just because I'm having a bad day doesn't mean that there's anything…Eeyore? What is that?"

"Didn't you ever have _Winnie the Pooh_ when you were growing up, McGee? Ugh! I pity your childhood."

He shook his head, not in the mood to get on the subject of his childhood. After all, that's what had started this entire thing. "Look, I simply mean that there are some things that are better kept private. No one expects _you_ to divulge your deepest and most embarrassing memories."

The words "deep" and "embarrassing" echoed in Abby's mind. "Are you harboring some dark secret, McGee?"

"No! I just…I have…" He groaned in frustration, allowing his head to plop on the table. "Can we just not talk about it?"

"Gibbs is going to find out soon enough."

"It's not a big deal!" The fuse that had lit upon his arrival at the crime scene was almost at its end. A mixture of emotions trembled within him, threatening to erupt. "Why can't anyone just let me be?" he bellowed, startling Abby. He shot up and grabbed the caffeinated gift that had been brought down to him. As he walked out of the lab, he tossed it into the nearby trash can with great force. So much force, in fact, that the plastic top popped off and small drops of the red drink ricocheted up from the trash can and splattered on the floor of the lab.

"McGee!" she called in surprise, hoping he'd stop and come back.

He didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is Special Agent Kate Todd, calling for Cpl. Wickmar's Commanding Officer. Yes, I'll hold."

"Psst!" Tony whispered from across the bullpen. When she looked up, he continued, "What do you think got McGeek's stomach all topsy-turvy?"

Kate shrugged, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder as she typed on her computer keyboard. "No idea, Tony. I mean, he doesn't have the strongest of stomachs to begin with and I'm sure the delicious smell that accompanied our dead Marine didn't help much."

"Yeah, but this was beyond crime scene sickness. He had the same look on his face all the way back here. I almost offered to let him sit up front in the truck and get some air." The operative word there was "almost." After all, Tony outranked the probationary agent, something he took great joy in lording over Tim. Giving up a coveted front seat was completely out of the question. "Something got him spooked."

"He and Wickmar went to high school together," Kate pointed out. "Maybe they were friends and he's grieving."

Tony let out a laugh. "Doubtful, Kate. I just finished researching our dead Marine's life from birth to…well…last night." He pulled up the deceased man's picture on the plasma. "He was the oldest son of a Gunnery Sgt. who, if he was anything like Gibbs, rode the kid's ass all the way through his childhood. Wickmar got into sports earlier and his extra curricular activities rarely deviated from football, basketball, baseball, and wrestling. He was a B- student and ended up at Iowa State with a wrestling scholarship. Got a degree in engineering and then joined the Marine Corps after graduation. He's a jock and a ladies man."

"Sounds like you want to make him your new drinking buddy."

"Can't say I wouldn't have tried," he admitted. "But thank you for proving my point. There is no way this guy and McGee were friends."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Stereotype much, Tony? It's very possible for geeks and jocks to be friends." She looked back up at the picture of their dead Marine, phone still in hand. Despite her words, she had to admit that the theory was unlikely. "Maybe it was the opposite; maybe McGee was bullied by the guy."

Tony frowned. He didn't like the idea of someone bullying the Probie; that was _his_ job. But it was a viable explanation. No doubt Tim had been something of a bully target in high school. "That makes sense, but it still doesn't explain his reaction when he saw the body."

"It was a pretty gruesome death, Tony. And friend or not, seeing someone you once knew lying there like this," she said, pulling up one of the crime scene photos, "isn't something most people take lightly."

He sat back against his desk and looked at the photo. It was, indeed, far worse than most crime scenes usually were; not that any crime scenes were especially pleasant, of course. Mentally, he changed the face of their victim to that of an old high school friend and then changed that face to the face of an old classmate whose name he couldn't recall. Both images were unnerving to say the least. "I see your point," he conceded. "Death by swirlie is never a pretty sight."

"Funny," Kate commented. "I mean, not funny like amusing…just ironic."

"What's ironic?"

"Well, if we're right about Wickmar's and McGee's past relationship, then don't you think it's ironic that the bully would die by what looks like a grotesque version of a swirlie?"

Tony considered the comment. "Kinda propels McGee to the top of the suspect list."

"Oh, please, Tony. Do you really think McGee has it in him to do _that_?"

"No," he admitted. "But maybe McGee's withholding information from us."

"He's withholding something," Abby agreed as she entered the bull pen. "Gibbs sent him up to a conference room."

"He's going to interrogate McGee?" Kate asked in shock. She'd never been on the receiving end of a Gibbs interrogation, but she'd seen enough of them from the observation room to know they were not pleasant.

Abby shook her head. "Relax, Kate, he's just going to talk to him. If he wanted to break him down he would have sent him to an interrogation room."

Tony and Kate shared a look over the scientist's head. Gibbs could turn _any_ room into an interrogation room.

* * *

Upstairs, Tim was beginning to come undone. He'd been sitting there alone for almost ten minutes, nothing breaking the silence except the soft whir of the air conditioner. Was this what it was like to wait in an interrogation room? If so, he could see why so many criminals confessed. The waiting was the worst part, especially when you knew who would be barging through that door at any moment.

What would he say? Gibbs wanted answers, he knew, and would wait as long as it took to get them; of the two, Gibbs was stronger and more stubborn, so Tim knew who would win in the end. But what could he say to the intimidating former Marine? He couldn't lie, that much was evident. It was as though Gibbs saw everyone as Pinocchio and when they lied their noses grew long. You couldn't BS the man, especially when you were a stuttering young agent who always wore his heart on his sleeve.

He could only tell the truth and hope Gibbs didn't ask too many questions.

The door opened and Tim's head snapped up. Gibbs walked in calmly, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He took a long gulp of the scalding drink and Tim regretted having thrown away the proffered Caf-Pow. "Y-you wanted to see me, boss?"

Gibbs sat across from Tim and put the cup of coffee to the side. With his arms folded in front of him, he proceeded to study his youngest agent. Tim looked back at him, his green eyes wide. To his credit, the younger man held Gibbs' gaze for a strong amount of time, as though they were caught in a staring contest; then he looked away, embarrassed.

"I told you," Tim said softly, "I'm fine. Just…just the smell and everything."

"Tell me you're okay, McGee, but look me in the eyes."

Tim winced. His eyes were his most expressive features, two all-encompassing windows into his most inner thoughts. Gibbs, of course, knew this and had exploited it to his advantage. He was cornered "Boss…"

"McGee, either look me in the eye and convince me you're okay or tell me what's bothering you." His voice was calm but his eyes were cold.

"Cpl. Wickmar…he was a classmate of mine in high school."

"You already told me that. Now tell me more." When Tim said nothing, Gibbs commented, "I'm guessing the two of you weren't friends."

"No," Tim said with a humorless laugh, "we were _not_ friends."

"He bully you, Tim?" Gibbs didn't often refer to him by his first name, but when he did it meant there was something wrong.

Tim nodded. "Yeah…he did."

"I'm guessing it went beyond just name-calling."

"It made Tony's hazing look like nothing." He ran a shaky hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. They stung. "He was sort of the ringleader of the guys who picked on me. It was your basic kind of stuff. Wedgies, noogies, name-calling, getting shoved into lockers…"

"Swirlies?" Gibbs asked, his mind on the cause of death Ducky had given to him.

That elicited another wince. "Once," he admitted. "That was one of the worst, though. I got sent home smelling like…well, like _that_. I had pink eye for the week. And it was just humiliating."

Gibbs was quiet for a moment. He took another gulp of coffee while Tim sat across from him with a pensive pout. "Must have been a shock to find him like that this morning."

Tim nodded. "When I heard the name I was stunned; when we finally got there, though…" He stopped as he remembered that morning, finding his former tormentor like that. "It just opened up something in me that I'd stuck away a long time ago."

"Bad memories?"

"Horrible memories." He could feel his throat tightening up, tears welling in his eyes. Tim willed himself not to cry; not now, not in front of Gibbs.

The man waited to see if his youngest agent would say anything more. When he didn't, Gibbs asked, "Is that all?"

Once again Tim averted his eyes. He wanted so much to say yes, that was all, that it had just been a bad flashback of a traumatic high school experience that had put him in this state; he wanted to say he was going to be fine, that he just needed to take a breather and get it out of his system.

But he knew it would be a lie.

"Boss," he said uncertainly.

Gibbs was attentive, ready for whatever the young computer geek had to throw at him. "Yeah, McGee?"

This time when he looked up, the young agent's green eyes were filled to the brim with tears which threatened to fall at any moment. "I…" He stopped and swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. "This…it wasn't my proudest thought…"

"What wasn't McGee?"

"I just was so angry. I'd seen him at Quantico a few weeks ago when Tony and I went down there for the Ford case."

"He recognize you?"

"No," Tim said with a twinge of anger. "No, he didn't recognize me at all. And I was just…just so angry! It's not fair that me seeing him would have such an effect on me while it doesn't even scratch the surface of his mind! I'm the one who was put through the ringer, the one who had nightmares because of him and his friends! He's the one who should feel embarrassed around me, not the other way around! So while he was out with his friends and probably picking up women, I was holed-up in my apartment rehashing the worst memories of my life!"

Tim shot up, knocking the chair back against the wall. "Do you know how often I was told that they'd get their comeuppance, that karma would bite them in the ass?" He ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I'm not a vengeful person, boss…I've always been taught forgiveness and turning the other cheek and all of that stuff. But when people assure you that all bullies get theirs sooner or later, you start to believe it…to wish for it!" By now the tears had begun to flow and Tim made no attempt to stop them. "So…so I wished for it! I saw him sitting there smugly, all happy and blissfully unaware, so I wished that someone would do to him what he'd done to me! I wished for it!"

Gibbs was stunned, not so much by the young agent's words, but by his hysterical demeanor. Through all of the hazing and taunting Tim had endured from Tony and Kate, he'd shown little more than a grimace. To see him snap like this elicited the rarely seen paternal side of Gibbs. He pulled Tim into a comforting hug, patting the young man's back. "McGee…" he said in a soothing tone. "It's okay, kid…it's okay." He could only imagine how guilt-ridden Tim was. Gibbs had only once wished ill-will upon another person, but in that situation he had taken care of the bastard himself. Tim had come a long way since their first meeting, but Gibbs knew the kid still had his moments of fragility. This was a burden he didn't need.

He all but shoved Tim into his recently-abandoned chair; he then knelt down so that he was eye-level with his young agent. "Tim, you listen to me and listen good: You are _not_ responsible for what happened to Cpl. Wickmar. Unless you're the one who drugged him, tortured him, and held his head down in a crap-filled toilet until he drowned, then I don't want you to carry this with you, got it?" When he got no response, he gave Tim his signature head slap and repeated in a much firmer tone, "Got it?"

"Yeah, boss," Tim replied unconvincingly. Gibbs didn't need psychic abilities to know what the young man was really thinking, but for now he would take what he could get.

"Good," he said as he stood. "I need you at the top of your game. Take a few minutes and get yourself together before you come downstairs. I doubt you want Tony to see you like this." His comment earned a slight smile from the young agent. He ruffled Tim's hair paternally. "We'll find the guy, McGee."

Tim stayed behind in the conference room for almost ten minutes. He sat in his chair and stared down at his hands which were folded in his lap. One thought ran through his head: _This is all my fault_.


	6. Chapter 6

As Gibbs descended the stairs down to the squad room he was aware of Abby's, Kate's, and Tony's curious eyes on him. No doubt Abby had already informed them of his conference with Tim. They would want the scoop, no detail left out. Luckily for Tim, gossip wasn't Gibbs' style. He'd let the young agent tell them on his own terms.

"What do we know?" he asked as he passed them on his way to his desk.

The trio exchanged glances, wondering who would be the first to ask about Gibbs' conference with Tim. Not even Abby felt comfortable breaching the subject. "Cpl. Wickmar's C.O. said he was basically a good kid, though he sometimes let his cocky attitude get the best of him." She gave Tony a pointed look when she said that.

"Hey! What're you looking at me for?" he asked.

Kate ignored the question and continued. "He entered the Corps as a bit of a goof-off but with a little ass kicking—his C.O.'s words—he got his act together and proved to be a great asset. He can't imagine who would want to hurt him."

"DiNozzo?"

"Wickmar went out clubbing with a couple of Marine buddies last night at approximately 2100," Tony said. "After an hour, he hooked up with a woman and left. His friends are on their way in to put together a composite sketch for us."

"They drive together or separately?"

"They drove separately and Cpl. Wickmar left in his car with the woman."

"What kind of car?"

Tony grabbed a print out from his desk. "He drives a blue Honda Accord, license plate Delta Tango Lima 841. It's not parked at his home, so I put out a BOLO on it."

Gibbs took the print out and examined it. "Did they say how Wickmar looked when he left?"

"Happy, likely due to the arm candy he was escorting out."

"He didn't look inebriated or subdued?"

"Not that they mentioned. If he had, they probably would have insisted on driving him."

"When he was killed he had a blood-alcohol level twice the legal limit and had been drugged. Ducky's time of death is 0400, which leaves six hours unaccounted for."

"Maybe they went to a bar," Kate suggested, "or the killer took him to wherever he was eventually killed. That's assuming, of course, that the woman was our killer. For all we know he dropped her off and went home where someone was waiting for him."

"Unlikely. If the sedative was slipped into a drink then it was probably given to him while he was out on the town."

Gibbs considered these facts before turning to his forensic scientist, asking, "What've you got, Abby?"

She frowned. "Nothing. I'm still running the prints."

"So what are you doing up here?"

"Well…" She fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Abbs…

"I just wanted to see how McGee was doing."

"He's fine, Abby."

"So…what did you talk about?"

He leveled her with a look that was usually reserved for Tony, Kate, and Tim. "It was a private conversation, Abby. If you want to know about it, you'll have to ask McGee."

She obviously wasn't pleased with that answer, but she didn't argue.

"Nothing to do with the case, boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs considered the question. Tim had known the victim and had a motive for wanting him harmed, but that alone didn't make him guilty. The display of emotion he had just seen from the young agent…no, Gibbs was certain that Tim had been a victim of circumstance. Despite his constant decree that he didn't believe in coincidences, he couldn't deny that they sometimes did happen in small doses. As far as he could tell, his youngest team member hadn't said anything pertinent to their current case. Then again, their case was only just beginning. So Gibbs gave a side-stepping answer. "If I thought it had something to do with the case, DiNozzo, don't you think I'd mention it?"

He handed back the print out. "Tony, you and Kate start hitting the bars near the club where our Cpl. was last seen. Show his picture around and ask if anyone saw him last night."

Tony and Kate could both see that Gibbs was avoiding the question at hand, but they did as they were told. They had gotten to the elevator when Tim re-entered the squad room. The young agent looked frazzled.

"Abby," Gibbs continued, "I want you back in your lab, going through Wickmar's laptop."

"But McGee already—"

"I know he's already gone through it, but I want you to go through it again." The order was really just busy work to keep Abby from prodding Tim to spill his guts. She had good intentions, no doubt, but she was accustomed to getting her way at any cost. Her therapy for any problem was to talk about it and then hug as though her life depended on it. "Go," he ordered gently but firmly.

"Yes, Gibbs," she muttered as she left. On her way out she passed Tim and their eyes met. She slowed down her pace but didn't stop. She tightened her mouth in a determined frown. If Tim didn't want to confide in her that was fine; she'd just have to do a little bit of her own detective work.

* * *

"Blue hair?" Gibbs asked in a disbelieving tone. Abby had presented him with the composite sketch, flanked by Cpl. Wickmar's friends, Cpl. Robert Emerson and Pfc. Doug Klein.

"Yes, sir," Emerson affirmed. "It looked like one of those wigs you see at Halloween or Mardi Gras."

Gibbs glanced down at the sketch. The woman depicted had a rounded face which was framed by the aforementioned blue hair. She had pale skin, green eyes, and a small, pouted mouth. Aside from the blue hair, the woman could have blended in with a crowd. In this case, her one outstanding feature did more to camouflage her than it did to help them identify her. Based on the color of her eyebrows, her natural hair color was blonde—the same color as the hairs Abby had found on Wickmar's uniform—but it was impossible to tell how long her hair was or how it was styled.

"She was wearing a white dress with those straps that tie at the back of the neck," Klein offered in an effort to help.

"Halter top," Abby supplied.

"Yeah, one of those. It was really low cut and the skirt came up to her thighs."

"It was plain white?" Gibbs asked.

"There was a black belt with it," Emerson added. "And she had on black wedge sandals."

"Did either of you talk to her?"

"No, sir, she didn't talk to us. When she talked to Danny, she just whispered in his ear."

"And you don't remember any distinguishing marks on her? Any tattoos, strange birthmarks?"

They both shook their heads sadly. "To be honest, sir, I probably wouldn't have remembered her if it weren't for the fact that she was hitting on Danny. Well, that and the blue hair."

Gibbs nodded, handing the composite over to Tim. "Put out a BOLO on that picture."

The young agent looked dubiously at the composite. It was unlikely that they would get a hit on it. If this woman was in fact their murderer, she had most likely chosen the outrageous wig as an impromptu disguise.

"Abbs, I want you to run the picture alongside mug shots, see if anything matches up," Gibbs continued. "Cpl. Emerson, Pfc. Klein, I'll have someone come up to escort you out. Thank you for your help."

"I want you to find the person who did this, sir," Emerson said firmly. "Danny didn't deserve this. He was a nice guy who never hurt anyone."

Gibbs shot a look in Tim's direction, gauging his reaction to that comment. To his credit, Tim was keeping his head down and his eyes on his computer screen. The only sign that he'd even heard Cpl. Emerson's statement was the fury with which he struck the keys on his keyboard.

"I just can't figure out why someone would want him dead. None of us can, sir."

"It may have been a random act of violence," Gibbs explained. "He may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time." The thought didn't seem to comfort them. "I'll keep you informed."

They thanked him as their NCIS escort arrived and led them off. As they left Kate and Tony returned from their excursion to the local bars. They were walking quickly and looked excited.

"Gibbs!" Kate shouted as she rounded the corner and jogged to her boss' desk. "Gibbs, we found it!"

"Found what?"

"A bar three miles from the club. The bartender there said that Cpl. Wickmar was there last night from around 2200 to 0100 with some woman."

"That's her!" Tony exclaimed, pointing to the composite sketch Wickmar's Marine buddies had put together. "The bartender said she was a white female who was wearing a blue wig. Unless our dead Marine had a fetish for blue-haired women, I think that must be her."

Kate dropped her things on her desk. "He said they ordered about four rounds of beers, but she didn't drink much."

"How'd they pay?"

"Cash," she said with a grim frown. If she'd used a credit card it would have been easier to track her down. "But he did say that Cpl. Wickmar kept calling her Angel."

"Not exactly a big break in the case," Gibbs commented.

"Well, it's more than we had."

"So where do we go from here?" Tony asked. "All we've got is a blue-haired woman who might be named Angel."

They'd hit a dead end, that much was evident. It was time to look at this from a different angle. "Kate, pull last nights videos from every traffic camera and security camera between the club and the bar where our Cpl. was last seen. Maybe we'll get a shot of our mystery woman."

Kate was flabbergasted by the daunting task. "Gibbs! Do you know how many cameras that is? It's hours of footage!"

"Yeah, so you'd better get started. Tony, I want you to go through Wickmar's entire history with a fine-toothed comb."

Tony had spent the better part of the morning doing just that, but he bit back his scoffing response. "On it, boss."

"McGee, I want you to run a search on women between the age of twenty-four and thirty-four with the first name Angel. Cross-check the women against this physical description and see if any of them have even the slightest connection to Cpl. Wickmar."

"Yes, boss," Tim replied robotically. Keeping busy was good; it kept him from thinking about that morning.

Gibbs turned and looked back at the plasma where the composite sketch was on display. Her mouth was upturned in a smug smile and it angered him. There was not a doubt in his mind; this was their killer.


	7. Chapter 7

The man is broken in body, mind, and spirit. His hands are tied above his head, bound to a hook hanging from the ceiling. His toes barely brush against the floor, leaving him dangling. His arms are sore from the weight of his own body pulling down on them. That, though, is the least of his problems.

"W-why are you d-doing this?" he manages to stutter out between gasps of breath.

She doesn't respond. Her well-manicured fingernails trail up his bare back. They reach his neck…and then, they rack painfully back down, leaving long cuts in their place. He screams in pain; she grins in delight.

"I can…I can give you m-money…" he promises in the form of a pathetic sob. "Lots of money!"

"I don't want money," she whispers in his ear. Another hand trails up, this time going up to his fingers. The circulation to his hands has stopped so his fingers feel cold and numb. She wonders if they will still feel numb as she breaks them. Each satisfying snap is accompanied by a scream or a groan; obviously the lack of circulation is not an anesthetic. She goes from pinky to thumb, lovingly caressing each digit before breaking it.

"Fucking shit!" he proclaims. "What the fuck do you want?" He's sobbing openly, tears, snot, and drool trailing down his face. Funny that a man who, in high school, had been a self-proclaimed "hunk" now looks so destructed and hideous. She wonders what the girls would say about him now.

Her arms wrap around his waist, fingers tickling his exposed belly button. Those hands continue down to his groin, giving his manhood a little squeeze. "Such a big man, hm?" she asks. "So happy to watch others suffer just so he can feel strong and important?"

"What are you talking about?" he asks in a hushed tone.

"I'm talking about you!" she shouts into his ear. "I'm talking about you going after and tormenting people who aren't just like you, who are maybe a little weird or a little shy. Maybe this will make you think about them."

"D-did we know each other?"

She is disgusted by this question. "You don't even remember them! You don't remember the people you hurt, the people you teased!" She releases his body and walks to the table set up behind him. "I guess it's hard to remember the faces of them when their heads were plunged into toilets or were facing down in a headlock while you dug your knuckles into their skulls." She scans her eyes over the instruments before finding the right one.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry if I did something to you…or to someone else…" He swallows down a bit of rising bile. "I'm sorry…"

"No, you're not!" she spits. "You're only saying you're sorry because you're a fucking coward! God, you're so spineless!"

"I'm sorry!" he repeats, this time in a shout. "I'm so, so sorry! I swear to you on my life I am!"

A flame comes to life from the cigarette lighter and glows against the branding iron. She stares into the sliver of fire, mesmerized by it as it heats the iron. "Too little, too late," she tells him as she flicks off the lighter. "You should have thought of that ten years ago."

He hangs his head in weariness and fear. His body is convulsing; it's cold…very cold. He never thought he'd cry openly, especially in front of a woman. Then again, he never imagined he would endure such torture. Memories flood his mind; memories of kids he'd bullied, people he'd hurt. Had it really been worth it? Even if things hadn't ended up this way—if he were currently sitting at home with a beer and a gorgeous, non-psychotic woman—the answer to that question would still be "no."

A hand falls upon his shoulder, holding it in a tight grip. "You might want to take a deep breath…" Before he can ask her what she means, he feels a searing, burning pain in his back. He lets out a slew of curses, kicking his feet in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

"Hurts?" she asks as she presses it in further. His choked words of fear and anger make her smile. "Good."

"You're fucking crazy!" he bellows with as much energy as he can muster. "You're a fucking psycho!"

She rips the branding iron away, tossing it to the ground. A knife is pulled from her pocket and she uses it to cut the rope which binds him to the hook. His heavy body falls to the ground with a thud. Before he can react to the newfound freedom, she is upon his prostrate body with her knee pressed into his spine. Her arm wraps around his neck in a headlock and she raises it up off the ground. "Now this shouldn't hurt…much."

* * *

**AN:** Just want to say thanks for the reviews! I truly appreciate each one I get! Also, the rating might up soon based on content. Things are going to get pretty bad!


	8. Chapter 8

He hadn't slept. He had tried, had spent countless hours tossing and turning, hoping to drift off into a blissful sleep; but every time he closed his eyes he saw Daniel's face. The face was deathly pale and contorted into that horrid, silent scream. That mouth gaping open as he gasped for breath. Those eyes…wide yet unseeing. How could he hope to sleep with those eyes gazing vacantly at him, holding him responsible?

By the time 3:00 am had rolled around Tim decided it was a lost cause and that his time could be better spent at his typewriter. That, too, turned out to be a bust. The only thing he could think about was the case and it wasn't something he wanted to write about. He sat there at his desk for two hours, staring at the blank paper with his fingers atop the keys while his mind churned. His alarm clock had blared from his bedroom, blessedly pulling him from his self-tormenting trance.

It wasn't surprising to the rest of the team to find the youngest agent at his desk bright and early and looking like…well…crap.

"Carrie Bradshaw could fit her entire wardrobe in the bags under his eyes," Tony mumbled to Kate.

She shook her head sadly. "One night and he looks like that?"

"You know what an overachiever McGee is. He can't do anything halfway, not even lose sleep."

"Tony, do you really think this is an appropriate time for jokes?"

"I do hope you two are whispering about the case."

Gibbs' voice startled them both and they turned to face him like two guilty children facing their father. They'd tried to be inconspicuous with their conversation, though it hadn't really mattered one way or another; they could have been shouting to each other with megaphones and Tim wouldn't have noticed. His mind was elsewhere…

"We were just comparing notes and stuff," Tony said.

"And what have you got?" the gruff man asked.

"Checked Wickmar's record...again." Tony paused awkwardly, glancing back and forth between Gibbs and Kate. "Nothing, boss. No grudges, no enemies, no dark secrets. He was just a normal guy."

Gibbs snorted. "There is no such thing, DiNozzo."

"Well, unless you know something you're not telling us…" The senior agent let the implication hang in the air, hoping Gibbs may offer something, but to no avail. "I'm not a miracle worker. I can only give what I get."

Gibbs' poker face remained intact as he turned his attention to the lone female on the team. "Kate."

"I spent all of yesterday evening watching every traffic camera, security camera, bank camera...well, every camera between the club and the bar Cpl. Wickmar visited the night of his murder."

"Are you expecting a medal for doing your job?" It was a more acerbic dig than usual, even for Gibbs, but he offered no apology for it.

Kate wasn't one to be pushed over, though. "A 'thank you' would be nice."

"Catching Cpl. Wickmar's killer would be nice as well."

She pursed her lips into a tight frown but forfeited the fight. "A bank camera caught the Cpl.'s car passing by fifteen minutes after he left the club. He's in the driver's seat with an unidentifiable passenger sitting beside him."

"No other shots?"

"I pulled the security footage from the gas station across the street from the bar. Around 0100 you can see the Cpl. and a woman exiting the bar. It's grainy, but I sent it down to Abby to clean up as much as she can."

"McGee?" The young agent didn't look up at the sound of his own name. Normally this would push Gibbs' temper and he would call out to the offending agent in a louder, angrier tone. This time, though, he paused; he approached the young man's desk and repeated in a calm tone, "McGee?"

Green eyes rose and met Gibbs' blue ones. "Uh, yeah, boss?"

"Have you got anything?"

"Four women with the first name Angel who fit our mystery woman's approximate age and description and who live in a ten mile radius of the club and bar where Dan…" He stopped himself and then continued. "…where Cpl. Wickmar was last seen. None of them had any connection with him so far as I can tell."

"Any hits on the BOLO?" Gibbs asked the team.

"The one on the blue-haired woman or the one on Wickmar's car?"

"Either, DiNozzo."

Tony shook his head glumly. "Nothing. What does our resident profiler think?" he asked, giving Kate a sideways glance.

"It's a bit early for me to create a profile on this woman, Tony."

"So you'd rather wait until she's killed again?" The smartass comment earned Tony a jab to the ribs.

"We don't know why she killed Wickmar. Was he a specific target or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" She pulled the composite sketch of their suspect up on the plasma. "The use of torture indicates that she wasn't just out to kill someone, but to punish someone. It's possible that he reminded her of someone from her past: a former boyfriend who was unfaithful, an abusive father, anything. She may have been taking her anger out on him for the past grievances of someone else."

"You said it yourself, Kate; the murder was death by swirlie."

She nodded. "Maybe she's trying to reciprocate for past bullying she suffered."

Tim's wince was noticed by everyone, including Kate. "I was thinking," she continued as she made her way to Tim's desk, "that it would help to have a better idea of Wickmar's past."

"Kate, I've read his file cover to cover," Tony groaned.

"Not everything about a person's life is documented in his file." She paused before asking in an innocent tone, "You went to high school with him, right McGee?"

"Yeah, Kate, I told you that already."

She leaned against his desk. "So what was he like?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know."

"Was he nice?"

Another shrug.

"Was he not nice?"

Shrug.

"Did he bully anyone?"

Nothing.

"Did he bully _you_?"

"When did this become about me?" he asked defensively. The response all but answered her question.

"You don't recognize the woman from high school, do you?"

He glared at her through his increasing weariness. "If I did I would have said something."

"Would you, Probie?" Tony asked skeptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The senior agent joined Kate's side. "You've been very secretive lately."

"Unlike you, DiNozzo, I don't need people to know every detail of my life."

"We're not asking about every detail; we're asking about your friendship with Wickmar."

"There was no friendship."

"So you admit he bullied you?" Kate replied.

"I didn't say that!" he snapped testily. "Stop putting words in my mouth!"

A shrill whistle from Gibbs pierced the air. It was annoying and likely sent every dog within three block of the building into frenzies, but it did the trick. The two older agents stepped away from the younger one, leaving him to sit and fume at his desk.

"McGee, go down to the lab and help Abby with the footage."

The young agent nodded mutely as he left. Tony and Kate exchanged looks brimming with concern and annoyance.

"Gibbs," Kate said once Tim was out of earshot, "if McGee knows something…"

"If he knew something, Kate, don't you think he'd say so?"

"Look, I sympathize with his uneasiness and I don't doubt that this case is difficult for him, but if we're going to find our murderer we need to know everything we can. We don't have time to coddle him for information."

"Let me give you the abridged version, then." The man stood and pulled up the service picture of their victim on the plasma screen. "Cpl. Wickmar may have been a substantial Marine and he may have evolved into a decent guy, but in high school he was guilty of more than a little hazing."

"And McGee was one of his victims?"

"That's not part of the abridged version and, unless you think this blue-haired woman bears a strong resemblance to McGee, it's not relevant to the case."

He hadn't exactly answered her question, but her suspicions had still been confirmed. "Fair enough," she conceded.

Gibbs returned to his own work, keenly aware that both Tony and Kate were studying him quizzically. "Something wrong?" he asked them both without looking up.

"No," they both echoed unconvincingly as they shared a look across the bullpen. Both of them were wondering the same thing: What was Tim hiding and why was Gibbs going to such great lengths to protect him?

* * *

The members of Gibbs' team hadn't been the only ones to put in a lot of work the previous night. After going over Wickmar's laptop—a pointless task that she knew had been doled out to her simply to keep her occupied—Abby had busied herself by poking around in Tim's past. She felt slight guilty about breaching the privacy of such a good friend, but she couldn't wait for Tim to open up to her.

Their short-lived relationship had given her a good bit of information regarding his past and it wasn't too difficult to find his high school and the names of his former classmates. Daniel Wickmar had been among those classmates, though, based on the various extracurricular activities that he and Tim took part in, the two of them didn't seem to have anything in common. Wickmar was all brawn while Tim was all brain.

While Tim was the team's resident hacker, Abby wasn't without her own skills. It had taken a while, but she'd managed to access Tim's and Wickmar's files from their high school and found that, though the two teens had opposing interests, they had known each other quite well. Wickmar's file was marked with write-ups of bullying and hazing, and, while no one student was ever named the victim in those particular write-ups, they synched up perfectly with many of the incident reports noted in Tim's file. Name calling, destruction of personal belongings, and physical assault—including, but not limited to, wedgies, noogies…and even a swirlie. They were all documented in there along with a note from the school counselor that Tim was prone to cruel bullying and, therefore, should be carefully watched to avoid any damage, physical or otherwise.

Abby felt her cheeks blaze furiously as she read through the list of Wickmar's accomplices. Sometimes there were many boys taking part in the hazing; sometimes it was only a couple who did the dirty deed. It usually involved the same three boys, a trio of tormentors who made torturing Tim a part of the daily routine.

The woman was nothing if not loyal to her friends, so the very idea of some high school punks treating someone as harmless and unassuming as Tim in such a manner made her blood boil like hot water. She could practically feel the steam coming out of her ears as she thought about it.

The bell of the elevator dinged outside her lab and Tim entered seconds later. Not recognizing his own fury, Abby shot up and engulfed him in a tight hug. It surprised him and made him forget what he was even angry about. "Abby, what are you doing?"

"Can't a girl hug a friend, McGee?"

"Well, yeah…"

She ended the hug and stepped back, giving him a sympathetic look that she usually reserved for the puppies she saw in pet shops. "What can I do for you, Timmy?"

Tim raised his eyebrows. Abby was generally pretty nice, but this was beyond just nice. It was a bit eerie. "Gibbs sent me down to help with the footage."

"The footage?"

"The footage Kate got from the gas station across the street from the bar. She said she sent it down to you to clean up…"

"Oh…right," Abby replied sheepishly. She had almost forgotten about that. "I haven't started clearing it up yet, but I'm hopeful! The video isn't too bad and I think between the two of us we can get a good picture on it."

"Probably, but how much will it help when we still don't know who this woman is?"

"Don't be so negative! I mean, we've had tougher cases than this, right?"

"I guess," he said with a shrug. "So where's the footage?"

Abby sighed and pulled it up on her screen. "Right now you can make out two figures exiting the bar and walking to the Cpl.'s car. I say walking, but one is actually supporting the other. Considering the supporter is shorter than the person being helped, my guess is that our alleged murderer is helping Wickmar to his car."

"Sounds about right," Tim muttered. "Daniel was…he was pretty tall."

She looked at him as he stared at the screen, fixated on the two people. "Well, it looks like she helps him into the passenger seat and then gets into the driver's seat."

"If he was as drunk as you say he was then he wasn't in any condition to drive."

"That is correct, McGee. It's a good thing she put him in the passenger seat, actually; I can't stand when people drink and drive."

"I don't think it's such a good thing if she then tortured and killed him."

"Point taken."

"So what can I do to help?" he asked as he slid into one of the seats.

"You can load the stills I took from the footage into my new program and start cleaning up the picture."

He dutifully began his task, commenting, "Shouldn't be hard. What are you going to do in the mean time?"

"I found something on Cpl. Wickmar's shoe. I'm going to run it through the mass spectrometer and see if I can figure out what it is. Maybe I can narrow down where our victim was held when he was…" She trailed off and looked up at Tim apologetically. "Well, where he was."

"You can say it; where he was tortured."

"I just know that you…that you knew him and I don't want to…I mean…"

"Abby, I know what happened to him. I'm working the case so I can't avoid the details. You don't need to tip-toe around it."

"But it's more than that!" she argued. "I mean, the things he did to you—"

"How do you know what he did to me?" Tim asked coldly. "How do you know anything about it?"

She was caught. The best way to handle this was to come clean and beg forgiveness. "Well…well, you wouldn't talk to me, Tim! And I was worried about you!"

He wasn't budging. "How do you know about Daniel bullying me?"

Abby looked down at her boots as she rocked back and forth on her heels. "I…uh…I may have hacked into his high school file."

"Abby!"

"If you had just told me!" she said.

"That's private! You invaded my privacy!"

"I was worried, McGee! You were acting so…so unlike yourself! I just wanted to help!"

"You didn't help!" he snapped. "And you can stop 'helping' right now! When I tell you I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to talk about it!"

The day had only just begun and Tim was already angrier than he'd ever been. First Kate and Tony start in on him and now Abby. Did confidentiality mean nothing to these people? So he was upset and didn't want to talk about it; was that such a crime? Would they have had the same reaction if it had been Tony withholding, or Kate or Abby? What if it had been Gibbs? Would they have pried and prodded the same way, or would they have shrugged it off, assuming the older man had his reasons for not wanting to talk?

"Tim…"

"I have work to do," he said curtly. "Maybe you should do the same."


	9. Chapter 9

Detectives Kelly and Washburn were an odd pair at Metro. Patrick Kelly was a middle-aged married father of two whose football career had ended prematurely due to back injury which occurred in college. Since then he'd let himself go, gaining a beer gut and losing a good portion of his hair. Gina Washburn was a petite woman who had never really blossomed into her body the way her mother had promised she would. She avoided her femininity at all costs and hid behind thick-framed glasses. Washburn was the brain of the relationship while Kelly was the brawn. What the partners shared, though, was a dedication to the force and a desire to get their jobs done.

"Agent Gibbs, please," Kelly said as the duo stepped off the elevator. They were pointed toward the silver-haired man who was standing in front of a plasma screen that had a picture of a young Marine on it. Nearby were two other agents, one male and one female. They both looked up at the Metro detectives as they drew closer.

"Can I help you?" Gibbs asked warily. The presence of Metro was never a good sign in his mind (and he could tell they were Metro without them even pulling out their badges).

"I'm Detective Kelly and this is Detective Washburn," the rather rotund man introduced. "We're from Metro."

"We found a body early this morning," Washburn explained. "Looks like the guy was worked over pretty bad."

"Usually you guys just call when you find one of ours," Gibbs said as he opened his desk drawer to grab his weapon. "Is the dead man a Marine or Naval Officer?"

"Neither, sir."

Gibbs looked up at them with impatience. He didn't have time to play these games. "So what has this got to do with us?"

"Your M.E.," Kelly said. "I think you call him 'Ducky'? Well, he's good friends with our M.E., Tom Hubbard."

Washburn jumped in. "Hubbard said he and Ducky were discussing current cases yesterday evening and your M.E. mentioned that the other morning you found the body of a man who had been branded with a 'V' and angel wings."

Tony and Kate stood and joined the trio with interest. "We did," Gibbs told them, "and judging by the looks on your faces I'm guessing the man you found this morning also had that branded on him.

"You guess right, Agent Gibbs," said Kelly as he dropped a file onto Gibbs' desk.

"Was he drowned in a dirty toilet too?" Kate asked.

"Drowned?" Washburn asked. "No; although, I'm sure this guy would have preferred that."

"Prefer breathing in crap from a toilet? What could be much worse than that?"

Kelly flipped open the file, revealing a picture of the dead man. Tony's eyes widened as he got the answer to his question. "I think I might be sick."

Kate was feeling the same way. "What happened to him?" she asked in shock.

The man in the picture had a large bald area atop his head, but it wasn't only his hair that was missing. His skin had been scraped to the bone of his skull and his entire head was stained with trails of blood. Some of it had even bleed into his wide open eyes. It looked like how they imagined a scalping to look and it was every bit as gruesome.

"It's like someone took a potato peeler to his skull."

Washburn nodded. "You're probably not far off, Agent…"

"DiNozzo," Tony said. "And this is Agent Todd."

"Hubbard says some sort of crude tool was taken to the guy's head and the hair and skin and everything else were peeled away until the poor guy bled to death."

"Was he tortured as well?" Gibbs asked.

Kelly nodded in affirmation. "Each of his fingers was broken along with a couple of his ribs. He also had long scratches trailing down his back."

"He had a high blood alcohol level," Washburn said as she looked over the reports, "and-"

"Xanax," Gibbs interrupted.

"Good guess."

"That one wasn't a guess. Our guy was doped with the same thing."

"Looks like we'll be working together," Kelly commented. Gibbs didn't look pleased by the idea, but said nothing for the moment. "You guys have any leads?"

"Only a blue-haired woman," Tony quipped.

"Huh?"

He pulled up the composite sketch from Wickmar's friends. "This was the woman last seen with our Marine. They met up at a club and headed out to a bar from there. We've got a hazy picture of them exiting and our forensic scientist is cleaning it up right now."

"Actually, Tony, I'm done."

The group turned to see Abby coming toward them, though Tim wasn't with her. Tony, Kate, and Gibbs noticed the depressed demeanor that had replaced Abby's usual pep; the Metro detectives just raised their eyebrows at the strange scientist, wondering if her Gothic ensemble was for real or if she was just getting a head start on her Halloween costume.

"It's not much," she told them as she pulled up the footage on the plasma, "but I can say with certainty that the man is Cpl. Wickmar. The woman with him does have blue hair, but her head is down so I can't get a positive ID on her face. It's probably her, though; I mean, how many women walk around with blue wigs?"

They watched as the blue-haired woman loaded Wickmar into the passenger seat. She extracted what looked like a pill box from her purse along with a bottle of water. After she presumably gave him the pills, the woman slid into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the road.

"Well," said Kelly, "at least we know we're looking for a woman."

"What's your guy's name?" Gibbs asked.

"A guy by the name of Steve Ashcroft."

Abby's eyes widened. "Steve Ashcroft?" she echoed.

"You know him?" Washburn asked.

All eyes turned to the forensics scientist who looked down sheepishly. "Well…not _me_ exactly."

"Then who exactly?"

She looked at Gibbs, unsure if she should say. Two men who had bullied Tim in high school had now turned up dead; it would make him a prime suspect. But she couldn't _not _tell them either. That would be lying and would be a hindrance to the investigation. Besides, they were bound to find out sooner or later so she may as well say it now.

"McGee." But it wasn't Abby who said it; it was Gibbs. "This guy was another classmate of his."

Abby nodded mutely. The team exchanged worried looks. This did not bode well.

"How do you know that, Abby?" he asked in a stern tone. He doubted very much that Tim had offered up the information himself.

"Who's McGee?" Kelly asked before Abby could respond.

"The other guy on our team," Gibbs told him. He gave Abby a look, letting her know that this wasn't finished.

"Well, where is he?" Kelly asked. "We'd like to speak him."

Washburn had noticed Gibbs' choice of words. "What do you mean that this guy is _another_ classmate of your man? Is there another classmate of his involved here?"

The team said nothing. The Metro detective pursed her lips. "I see; so both of our victims went to school with your teammate. Any particular reason you're being so quiet about this?"

"Any particular reason you're so interested?" Gibbs retorted.

The woman leveled him with a look. "I understand wanting to protect your man, but I think you can see this is pertinent to our case. We're not making any accusations, but we do need to speak with him." When Gibbs didn't respond, Washburn grew angry. "Sir, I can assure you that Metro will not allow for a cover-up."

"Then it's a good thing this isn't a cover-up," he said, shooting her a glare of his own. Despite his ire and his desire to protect Tim, Gibbs knew he wasn't going to win this one. If the roles were reversed he wouldn't let Metro keep him from talking to one of their men either. It would only make Tim look guiltier in the long run. "You can talk to him in one of our conference rooms," he said, "but I want to be in there with him."

She shook her head. "We cannot have a distraction. For all we know you'll feed him answers."

"You said yourself you're not making any accusations, so this shouldn't be an interrogation," he countered. "Either I'm there with him or no one talks to him."

"Shouldn't that be up to Agent McGee?"

"Shouldn't what be up to me?" Tim asked as he answered. He immediately noticed that everyone in the bullpen (including two people he didn't know) stopped talking and looked at him. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Steven Ashcroft," Kelly said as he grabbed the picture from the file. He held it up for Tim to see. The young agent went white. "I understand he was a classmate of yours, kid."

He didn't respond; instead, Tim slumped into the nearest chair and willed himself not to hyperventilate. This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. It was too much of a bad dream for it to be real. Finding Daniel like that had been horrific enough; now seeing Steven with his head sliced open…

"Oh, God," he groaned as he brought at hand to his mouth. He jumped up and bolted down the hall to the bathroom with Gibbs, Tony, Kelly, and Washburn right behind him. He barreled in and fell in front of the first toilet he saw. It all spewed up as his body convulsed violently. He kept his eyes scrunched closed and clung to the porcelain seat with all his might.

After a few moments, he felt a hand fall on his shoulder and give it a small squeeze. "You're okay, Tim," Gibbs assured him. He wanted to reply, but another upheaval came and he was hunched over again.

Gibbs ushered the others out, telling Tony to keep Kelly and Washburn in the hall. The Metro detectives were not pleased. "You can't keep us from talking to him," Kelly said gruffly.

"He's not in any position to do much talking at the moment. You can stay out here; we aren't going anywhere," he said before closing the door in their faces.

Tim was sitting upright with his back against the toilet. He was no longer vomiting, but his body was shaking all the same. Somehow, the bags beneath his eyes had gotten larger and his breathing had grown ragged. His eyes were open, but glazed over; they weren't focused on anything and it looked as though his mind was a million miles away.

Gibbs squatted down beside the young man. "Feel better?"

The young man shook his head and softly answered, "No." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't think I can feel better right now."

The older man nodded in understanding. "So this Ashcroft guy, was he another tormentor?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Tim whispered. Bad high school memories flooded his mind; he closed his eyes to escape them but to no avail. "He and Daniel were good friends. I was one of their usual targets." He opened his eyes and looked at Gibbs wanly. "I'm going to have to talk to those people, aren't I?"

"When you're ready, Tim. You can stay in here for the rest of the day for all I care."

"Boss…" He stopped and looked down in abashedly. "I was just wondering if you could be with me when I talk to them."

"I've already insisted upon it." Gibbs linked an arm around Tim's and helped the young man to his feet. Tim was shaky, but with Gibbs' helped he managed to get to the bathroom sink. "Wash up," the older man ordered. "Don't want to look like crap when being interviewed by Metro."

"Thanks, boss." Tim turned on the water and all but shoved his face into the stream. His cupped hands filled with water which he used to clean his face and rinse out his mouth. The water dribbled down his chin as he remained hunched over the sink and he stared down into the swirling, dirty water that circled the drain.

"I'll be waiting outside," Gibbs told him with a pat on the back. "Come out when you're ready."

Tim looked up when Gibbs spoke, but he didn't answer; his eyes were focused on his reflection in the mirror. It had been ten years since he'd left high school and its tormentors behind him. Now he'd reverted back into the scared, timid boy he had once been.

They were tormenting him again, only this time it was justified in his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

The bubbles surround her slim body as she sinks further into the hot, foamy bath. She lifts a single leg up from the water and watches as the suds slide smoothly down her skin. The bubbles slip into the crevice behind her knee and drip down her thigh, reminding her of the way Ashcroft's blood had spilled from his head and dribbled down his face. Of course, the blood had been red and accompanied by screams of agony; the suds are pure white and the only sound accompanying them are her purrs of contentment.

There is something about bubble baths that can soothe a person's muscles and nerves the way nothing else can. She descends further into the wall of foam, resting her head against the back of the tub. The steam from the water makes her skin glisten with sweat, but she doesn't mind. In fact, she finds it cleansing, like all of her troubles are oozing out with the perspiration.

But she knows they aren't.

She looks down at her hands and purses her lips. Dried blood is still caked beneath her fingernails even though she's scrubbed them twice since disposing of the body. She glares scornfully at the blood. She hates that any part of him has stained her body, even if it had been a painful experience for him. He's scum for those things he did; he's not worthy of staining her body with his blood.

A fingernail brush sits nearby and she snatches it up. After running the brush over the bar of soap, she vigorously rubs them across her nails, letting the soapy suds build up until the dried-red is gone and she can only see pure white bubbles. She rinses off her hands and then holds them up for inspection. No more blood. She smiles. Perfect.

The water begins to cool and she knows it's time to pull herself from the relaxing bath. With the towel wrapped around her sopping wet body, she shuffles into the bedroom and glances at the list which sits on her nightstand. Two names have been crossed out with a red marker; beside them she has drawn a tiny smiley face. Now she has another name, another person who must pay penance for past sins.

She drops the towel and spreads out naked on the bed as she consults her list. She knows who is next, though she is wary. The first two were easy; they were single and had penchants for alcohol. No one had been waiting up for them. This next one, though, is a bit trickier. A nine to five worker, married with children; the type who doesn't frequent bars so much, especially not on a week night. That makes it much more difficult.

Luckily, she knows just how to play the hand. It won't be her normal M.O., but it will get the job done and that is the important thing.

With the list pressed against her chest, she rolls over onto her back, contemplating what to do with him. She, of course, already knows how he will finally meet his demise, but she hasn't yet decided how she will torment him, how she will put him in so much pain that he will consider death a relief.

A yawn overcomes her as she feels her eyelids droop. Perhaps the bubble bath has relaxed her _too_ much. It doesn't help that she was up until the wee hours of the morning entertaining her previous guest. She tries to concentrate but is losing the battle to weariness.

Finally, she replaces the list on the nightstand and snuggles down into her pillow. She can think about her future prey after her nap.

Even angels need their sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

The four of them—Kelly, Washburn, Gibbs, and Tim—sat in the conference room. Kelly and Washburn sat on one side of the table facing Tim, who sat on the other side, head hanging down and hands placed contritely in his lap. Gibbs was standing at the head of the table, watching the interview. So far there was little to see. Tim had been sitting there silently while the two Metro detectives stared him down. He almost wanted to laugh; Tim had suffered far harsher stares from Gibbs alone.

"Agent McGee," said Kelly. The young agent looked up. His eyes seemed empty, as though his mind wasn't completely there. "Steven Ashcroft and Daniel Wickmar," he said, placing photos of each man before him. Blessedly, they weren't the crime scene photos; he didn't think he could stomach seeing them again. "Two men dead. Both are former classmates of yours and both were marked with the same brand."

"I…" Tim stopped and took a deep breath. "I don't know what to say."

"How about you start by telling us where you've been these past two nights."

Gibbs immediately jumped in. "I thought you said you weren't making accusations," he snarled.

"It's a simple question," Kelly replied, his eyes never leaving Tim's face. "If he's got nothing to hide, why not answer it?"

"We have footage of the person who killed Wickmar and Agent McGee doesn't even come close to fitting the description."

"You have footage of a suspect," Washburn corrected. "Aside from her helping your drunk Marine out of a bar, we haven't seen anything to indicate that she, without a doubt, is the killer."

Kelly nodded. "Even if she is involved, who's to say she doesn't have an accomplice?"

This time Gibbs' face became a bright shade of scarlet. "Maybe you've forgotten, but when you showed him the picture of Ashcroft, he hightailed it into the bathroom to puke. I can assure you his reaction to seeing Wickmar's dead body was just as unpleasant. You can't fake that kind of reaction."

Washburn rolled her eyes. Typical team leader trying to cover for his agent. "I have seen people force themselves to cry, puke, and faint on cue just to avoid suspicion. No reaction is too authentic. Either have Agent McGee answer the question or I'll have you both arrested for interfering with an investigation."

"This is our investigation!" Gibbs snapped.

"Not while one of your men stands as a suspect, it isn't," Washburn shot back coolly. "Now are we going to get an answer, or should I break out my handcuffs?"

Gibbs leaned forward, towering over her like Goliath over David, though he had no intention of going down with a simple slingshot. In a low tone, he said, "I can assure you, Detective Washburn, that no handcuffs you have are strong enough to hold me." He then stood up and looked to his agent. "Answer them, McGee," he said calmly.

Tim nodded. "Uh, well, the night before last I was here until around ten. Then I went straight home."

"And where is home?" asked Kelly

"Silver Spring, Maryland."

"A good distance away from the bar where Wickmar was last seen," Gibbs added, earning him a scowl from Washburn.

"Did anyone see you at home?"

"No…I don't think so. Most of my neighbors are asleep by then."

"No security guard? No one at a front desk?"

Tim shook his head glumly.

"What about last night?"

"Mostly the same. I worked until after ten then went home."

Kelly grunted. "And I'm guessing no one saw you last night either." It wasn't a question. "So what you're telling us is that you knew both of the victims and that there's no one who can confirm that you were at home when the murders occurred?"

"If he says he was at home, he was at home."

"Forgive me, Gibbs, if I don't have as much faith in our man as you do, but that's not good enough."

"McGee doesn't lie."

"Well, I wish life were like Pinocchio where you could tell if a person was lying or not by looking at their nose, but we live in the real world. Maybe it's different here at NCIS, but we've been taught not to simply take a person's word."

Tim calmly looked back and forth between the two men, wondering if the argument would come to blows. He hoped not; he didn't want to have that on his conscience as well.

Somehow, this entire thing was beginning to feel like an out-of-body experience for him, like he sitting on the sidelines watching it rather than living it. This was nothing new, though. In fact, it happened almost every time he was put into tense situations. He figured it was his brain's way of protecting him. It did manage to put him at ease for the moment, at least until he was pulled from his mind once again.

"Agent McGee," Washburn asked, breaking up the bickering between the two men, "What kind of relationship did you have with the two deceased?"

He shrugged, head still hanging low. "We were classmates. I mean, it's not like we hung out together or anything."

She was silent as she studied him. Tim was very familiar to her, not because they'd ever known each other before that day, but because he was the kind of man she had seen many times in high school. Quiet, unassuming, timid, skittish, but intelligent and astute all the same; he was, no doubt, the kind of man who had seen his fair share of high school bullying, who had found himself the target of many bigger, stronger, and more athletically inclined boys who resented him for being so young, yet still surpassing them academically. It was something she'd known all too well.

While being the victim of high school bullying made her sympathize with him, it didn't make him innocent in her eyes. The quiet ones were very often the most dangerous.

"It wasn't fun, was it?" she asked softly.

Somehow, Tim knew exactly what she was talking about. He looked up, seeing in the detective a kindred spirit, someone who had lived a similar life and who understood what he felt. He shook his head. "No."

"Each day, you wonder why they've decided to target you, what you might have done to offend them so much. No matter how hard you try or how nice you are to them, they still respond with the same intense loathing they always have. You sit up at night, replaying the things done and said and planning ways to make it stop. With each day, each taunt, each act of hazing, you begin to feel weaker and weaker until finally you wonder if it's even worth getting out of bed."

Even Kelly was silenced by her tirade. He knew his partner to be a brain, but he'd no idea she had experienced that sort of high school hazing.

Tim rested his head in his hands. "I didn't care about being popular," he said. "I just wanted them to stop. I just wanted to blend in with the background, be ignored." He looked up and they could all see his melancholic eyes. "I loved going to school because each day I got to learn. They stole that away from me."

"I bet that made you angry."

"Of course it did."

"You wished horrible things on them."

"Hey!" Gibbs bellowed. "This isn't a psychiatric appointment. Now stop putting these ideas in his head."

"But I did, boss," Tim admitted. "I did wish horrible things on them."

This time Washburn's tone was one of pure empathy. "I remember one girl who made me her daily target. She would spread terrible rumors about me, purposely spill food on me, and do everything she could think of to make my life miserable. All I hoped was that something would happen to her, something that would knock her off of her high horse, show her what it was like to be tormented mercilessly." She paused and Gibbs saw her eyes flicker to the side as she recalled a particular bad memory. "Finally, one day during our senior year, she was in a car accident. She broke her leg and her face was horribly scarred. Everyone she had considered to be a friend abandoned her. Soon, she too was the target of bullying.

"After her accident, I felt a split second of satisfaction. Then, I suddenly remembered my wish and I fell into a pit of guilt. I couldn't even enjoy my retribution because I felt like I had caused it. But you know what, Agent McGee? Wishing is just that: a wish. While hoping for others to feel pain isn't something I'd encourage, it doesn't make you guilty of anything. If anything, it just makes you human."

Gibbs looked at her intently, wondering what her angle was. She'd obviously built up a rapport with him, but how did she intend to proceed? This could go any number of ways.

Gently, Washburn placed a hand over Tim's. "But what does make you guilty is if you were at all involved with these murders."

"Okay, that's it!" Gibbs shouted as he shot up.

But she wasn't finished. "Even if you didn't torture and kill them," she told him firmly, "if you know who did, you need to tell us."

Gibbs yanked open the door and gestured for the Metro Detectives to leave. "This interview is over! Go!"

"If we leave, we're taking Agent McGee with us," Kelly said. "We should be able to interrogate him on our own turf."

"No."

"You seem to think you have a say in that."

"That's because I do. You are not asking my man anymore questions and you sure as hell are not bringing him down to the precinct. He's said all he has to say and you have no reason to suspect him of anything."

"Except for the fact that two of his former bullies are now dead!" Kelly responded angrily.

"Yeah? Well, I'd wager that he wasn't the only one they bullied, so you may want to talk to all of their targets before singling him out."

"So this is the way it's gonna be?" Kelly asked snidely. "Okay, then I suppose we'll just have to go over your head and bring this up with your Director. I'm sure he'd hate to see NCIS accused of a cover-up."

Gibbs' jaw tightened visibly, as did his grip on the door. "I should warn you that he doesn't respond well to threats. Now get the hell out of here."

"I'll go with them, boss." Tim's voice was quiet, but strong. He'd been sitting by, watching the two men engage in what one might call a "pissing match." While he appreciated Gibbs' loyalty, he knew this was one match he would ultimately lose. After all, if the roles were reversed, Gibbs wouldn't give up on it any more than Kelly or Washburn would. One way or another, he was going to be brought to the Metro precinct, and this way would be easier on everyone. Besides, despite his guilt, he knew he didn't have anything to hide.

"McGee, you don't need to do this," Gibbs told him.

Tim nodded. "I know, but I'd rather get this over with. I just want this entire thing to be over with."

Kelly smirked at the older agent, pleased he had won the fight. "I guess you've got no reason to complain now, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs didn't like the idea, but it wasn't his call. If Tim said he wanted to go, then he couldn't do much else to stop it. He could, however, do one thing. "Then I'm going with you."

The Metro Detective scoffed. "Don't you think you've interfered enough?"

"You call it interfering; I call it doing my job."

The man pursed his lips temperamentally. "You will not be in the interrogation room," he stated. "And you won't be in the observation room either. Got it?"

Both Tim and Washburn stood and exited the room, the bickering men behind them. The female detective suddenly looked remorseful as she led him out and to the elevator. Tim saw her give him a small, sad smile.

* * *

Tony, Kate, and Abby were still sitting in the bullpen, silently wondering what was being said in the conference room. Gibbs had told them all to get back to work while he and Tim talked with Metro, but how could they keep their minds on work at a time like this?

When the foursome passed through, they all expected Tim to take his seat behind his desk while Gibbs escorted their visitors out. But they passed the desks and continued on to the elevator.

"Gibbs?" Kate asked uncertainly.

"We taking a field trip?" was Tony's question.

Gibbs hit the down button. "McGee and I are going down to Metro to take care of some business. I want you three to keep on the case. I'll have Kelly and Washburn here send over their notes," he added, giving the Metro detectives a hard look. It told them that, if they wanted him to cooperate with them, he expected something in return. "We are, after all, working to find the same killer, right?"

"Maybe," Kelly said as the elevator doors opened. He and Washburn led Tim inside. Gibbs followed behind.

Abby fidgeted nervously after the doors had shut. "They're not…I mean…you don't think they…that Tim…?" She stopped and collected her thoughts before continuing, though both Kate and Tony knew what she was trying to say. "It's not an interrogation, is it?"

"Probie? Interrogated?" Tony asked jokingly, though he knew this was no joking matter. "He's a computer geek, not some killer. The kid barfed the first time he saw a dead body."

"But he knows them," Abby insisted. "Well, he _knew_ them, at least."

"Abby, they went to high school together. I'm sure a lot of people knew them."

"Yeah, but how many people were bullied by both of them?" she shot back.

"So they _did_ bully him," said Kate. She'd known, of course—they all had—but it was nice to have confirmation on that. "Did he tell you that?" she asked. Abby knew Tim better than anyone else on the team. Well, except for Gibbs, but that was only because Gibbs seemed to know everything about everyone.

"Not exactly," the Goth girl confessed sheepishly. "I may have hacked into his high school file."

"Does Gibbs know you did that?"

"He didn't sanction it if that's what you mean."

"So what'd it say?" Tony asked.

Abby glared at him. "Tony! That's private!"

"Oh, but not private enough for _you_ to keep _your_ nose out of it, right?" he asked sarcastically.

As much as she wanted to, Abby couldn't argue the point; she could, however, avoid it completely. "What I can tell you is that Wickmar and Ashcroft made McGee a personal target of theirs."

"Which could be a motive for wanting them dead," Kate commented. "Not that I'm saying McGee did anything," she added hastily when she saw the looks that Tony and Abby were giving her, "but from an outsider's point of view, it's easy to see why Metro would immediately be suspicious. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to get revenge on past hazing. Was McGee their only victim?" she asked Abby.

"No, but he was a frequent one. Everything from name calling to physical assault."

Tony furrowed his brow as a thought entered into his mind. "Abby," he said, "were they the only two who bullied McGee?"

"They were two of three guys who did it on a regular basis."

"Who was the third?"

She thought back to the file she'd read. "His name was Ryan Fitcher."

Kate and Tony exchanged looks. "You don't think…?" Kate started.

"If there is someone killing off past bullies, this guy could be the next one on the list," he said as he pulled out his phone. "I'm going to call Gibbs and let him know. You call Metro," he told Kate.

A wide-eyed Abby groaned. "I can't believe I didn't think of that!"

"It's not your fault, Abby," Kate assured her. "Get on McGee's computer. See what you can find on Ryan Fitcher."

* * *

She watches him as he exits the building. It's his lunch hour and she knows that he's headed to the corner café. Time for her to intervene. She slips on her oversized sunglasses and slides out of the car. After a perfunctory glance in the mirror—during which she perfects her pitiful damsel in distress look—she makes her way towards him.

"Excuse me, sir," she calls out. He stops, giving her a kind smile. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I am so lost! My sister just moved up here and I'm visiting her, but I can't seem to find her house. Could you help me?"

"Of course. Where does she live?"

She pauses, stammering as she thinks. "Oh, I am so stupid! I wrote it down somewhere. It's probably in my car. Do you have a minute?"

He nods and follows her, unaware of what really lurks beneath the exterior of this cute girl. But why should he be suspicious of her? She's a woman half his size. What could she possibly do to him?

She opens the passenger side door and opens the glove compartment. "It's in here, I think," she says, blocking his view of the compartment's contents. Her hand wraps around the thing she's really searching for. It's prepped and ready.

"I think she lives here," she says as she turns around. Quickly, she jabs the syringe into his arm and pushes the liquid out of the syringe and into his vein.

His eyes widen. "What're you—?"

Before another word leaves his lip, she leans up, wraps her arms tightly around his neck, and presses her lips firmly against his, effectively muffling what he says. To anyone passing by, they look like sweethearts sharing a kiss.

He struggles against her, but the medicine works quickly and his body is beginning to go lax. Soon, she feels herself supporting him and she knows he is now hers. With a little maneuvering, she gets him seated in the passenger seat and buckles him in nice and tight. She even locks the door after she closes it, lest he should try to make a break for it while she strolls around to the driver's seat. But he doesn't; he sits there, half-conscious.

"You're a good little boy," she coos patronizingly as she puts the car into gear. "Maybe I'll give you a treat."

"Who're you?" he slurs. Drool begins to stream down his chin. "What d'ya want?"

"Shh," she hushes, gently stroking his hair. "Save your energy, baby. You'll need it."

* * *

**AN: **Thanks for the reviews, guys! We've got a ways to go on this one, so I hope you're ready for the ride :)


	12. Chapter 12

Metro took the team's theory very seriously and sent a couple of detectives out to Fitcher's place of work, a car dealership owned by his father-in-law. That didn't mean Tim was off the hook, though. He was brought to an interrogation room while Gibbs was let into the adjacent observation room. Kelly and Washburn stayed out in the hallway to discuss who would conduct the interrogation. Kelly had seniority, but Washburn pointed out that she had already built up a rapport with Tim and he'd likely feel more comfortable talking to her than to Kelly. This wasn't the kind of suspect on whom they needed to use intimidation.

Tim had been sitting silently since he'd been brought there, head hanging low and hands clasped and resting contritely in his lap. Gibbs watched from the other side of the glass. He observed that Tim looked like a young student who was waiting for the school principal to come in and berate him for something he'd done.

They both looked up when the door opened and Washburn stepped in. She was holding a cup of water which she placed before Tim on the table. "Thank you," he whispered as he took it.

She took her seat on the other side of the table and placed a file in front of her. A quick dossier had been put together detailing Tim's life and career and even she had to admit she was impressed. A high school valedictorian at the age of sixteen and then straight off to MIT where he received a BSc in Computer Science and an MSc in Computer Forensics. From there he headed to Johns Hopkins where he earned another BSc, this time in Biomedical Engineering. From there, his career and training took a strange turn as he headed to FLETC. He didn't seem like the type to choose the law enforcement route, but then again neither did she, Washburn supposed.

"You were assigned to Agent Gibbs' team this past September?"

Tim nodded mutely. He kept his eyes trained on the table while he absentmindedly ran his index finger around the rim of his cup.

"What about before that?"

"I was stationed down at Norfolk. I worked in this tiny little office. A lot of desk work."

"You were there for less than a year."

"I guess," he said with a shrug. He hadn't really been paying attention to the amount of time spent there. It was a boring job and it hadn't been long before the days began to meld together, seeming more like one very long day than several shorter ones.

"You moved up very quickly." Again, he nodded. "You're also considerably younger than many of your co-workers."

"I skipped two grades when I was in school," he said, though he didn't know why. She obviously had his file before her and already knew that.

"That didn't make you very popular with your classmates, I'm sure. What about at NCIS?"

He looked up, obviously surprised by the question. He'd received his fair share of teasing and hazing from a few colleagues—most noticeably Tony—but he'd never thought of it as being on the same level as the horror he'd experienced in high school. After all, even beneath the veneer of torment, they meant well, right? And it wasn't about his age; it was about giving the new guy a hard time, right?

Catching him in his moment of doubt, Washburn continued. "How many people there have accomplished all that you have in such a short amount of time? I don't just mean getting through college before you were old enough to drink and earning three degrees by the time some people are just getting their first, but working for a federal agency on one of the most prominent teams while you're still so young. Do you think any of them feel you should have paid your dues before you were given that promotion, that other, more veteran employees were passed over in favor of you?"

"No," he disagreed as he shook his head. "No I earned my position on Gibbs' team!"

"I'm sure you did, but don't you think that some colleagues may feel threatened by it?"

"Maybe," he conceded, "but I can't help that."

She paused and observed him. His cheeks had a pinkish tint and his eyes revealed that something was on his mind. Perhaps these were thoughts that Tim himself had hidden away at some point. "How has it been, working under Agent Gibbs?"

"It's been good, fine. I mean, he can be a bit…uh…gruff, I guess you'd say, but he's the best and it's an honor to work under him."

"And your teammates? Agents DiNozzo and Todd? How are they?"

He knew she wanted to know how Tim felt they treated him, but that wasn't something he wanted to get into just yet, so he deflected the question. "They're very good at their jobs, though they do fight a lot. Ducky, our M.E., thinks it's some form of sibling rivalry."

"Well, that makes sense," Washburn said with a nod. "A team can be a lot like a family. I can see Agent Gibbs as a father figure with the two of them acting as the feuding brother and sister." She stopped and looked him directly in the eye before continuing. "So that would make you the younger brother of the family?"

He sighed, not seeing where she was going with this. "Sure."

"You don't have any older siblings, though. At least not in your biological family. Just one younger sister. Must have been hard for you to assume the role of a younger brother. I know how older siblings can be: teasing you, mocking you when you make a mistake, harping on every little thing you do until you think you might just snap." Tim didn't nod, but he also made no attempt to stop or correct her. "And going to the parent doesn't always help. They're so absorbed in their own problems that they brush you off, telling you to handle it yourself."

That, Tim had to admit, was certainly the case at times. It wasn't that Gibbs didn't care, he knew, but that he wasn't used to dealing with squabbling siblings. He was a former Marine and if the Navy was anything like that, you didn't tell on other people when they were harassing you. Luckily, Tim hadn't just grown up with a Navy Dad, but with a non-Navy Mom as well, and she was the type who would come to your aid when a sibling was being a pest. Granted, he was usually the one getting in trouble when Sarah tattled on him, but knowing he had a parent who was there for him like that was a comfort.

He shook his head, trying to expel the thoughts from his mind. Gibbs wasn't his father and it was unfair to expect him to act like one.

Washburn knew she was onto something and she wasn't about to quit now. "Of course, the only thing worse than being the youngest is being the middle child. The older siblings rag on you, but you can't rag on the youngest one. They're the ones who can get away with murder and no one says anything."

That was Abby, alright. She was the baby of their NCIS family and she wasn't afraid to exploit that role. Gibbs would never dream slapping her on the back of the head the way he did Tony and Tim, and she could say whatever she wanted, crack as many jokes as she'd like about Gibbs, and he'd only smile and shake his head as though she were a precocious four-year-old saying a new curse word she'd just heard. He couldn't remember her ever being reprimanded, even if she had disobeyed Gibbs.

"Yeah," he said after a long bout of silence, "I'm sure being a middle child really sucks."

On the other side of the glass, Gibbs was watching, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and a bit of guilt bubbling up inside. He wasn't sure what Washburn's angle was, but he could see that it was working. Tim was beginning to crack little by little. Not that it mattered, of course; Tim had nothing to hide and he knew that. But it angered him to see his youngest agent thrown into a whirlpool of self-doubt. He hoped Tim knew that he _had_ earned his place on that team, that Gibbs wouldn't have even considered him if he didn't know that Tim was the best person for the team.

What really made Gibbs uneasy, though, was Washburn's comparison of their team (including Ducky and Abby) to a family. He'd never considered himself a father figure to his team, but now that it had been mentioned, he could see it, though it wasn't something he was too comfortable with admitting. He knew that Tony and, to a lesser degree, Kate often made Tim a target for their teasing barbs. Sometimes he intervened (usually when he thought it would interfere with their work), but many times he just ignored it, figuring the problem would sort itself out, that Tony would eventually let up. It wasn't like the teasing ever crossed the line into outright bullying-at least it usually didn't. He also knew that he had a habit of showing favoritism toward Abby, very often letting her get away with doing and saying things he wouldn't let the others get away with.

It was evident to anyone who had witnessed the team in action for even a minute that Tim's place was located firmly on the bottom, and no one was going to let him forget that. But Gibbs hadn't thought it and the subsequent hazing had taken any kind of toll on the young man.

"Now, Agent McGee," Washburn continued, "you knew both of our victims and, well, let's just say your relationship with them was far from pleasant. Did you ever think about them after you'd graduated?"

"Sometimes…when I'd see other students getting bullied, I'd remember them. Sometimes I'd remember them even when I didn't see someone getting bullied. But I started to just leave that behind. It happened and I didn't want to live the rest of my life by that."

"Did anything that happened while you were on Gibbs' team make you remember it?"

He winced, giving Washburn her answer. "A few things…but it was nowhere as horrid as high school was. Just stupid teasing, name-calling…like a family."

"Mm-hm," she hummed, obviously not convinced. "You had a high school reunion recently, didn't you?"

Tim nodded.

"Did you attend?"

"No."

"No? Why not? It wasn't out-of-state."

He shrugged. "I just didn't feel like going."

"You didn't want to rehash bad memories?"

"I didn't have many good ones."

"So you hadn't seen Daniel Wickmar or Steven Ashcroft since graduation day?"

Tim fidgeted uneasily on his seat. He knew if he lied she'd be able to tell; lying had never been his forte. "Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"I ran into Cpl. Wickmar three weeks ago at Quantico while we were investigating an embezzlement case."

"Was he a suspect?"

"No, just someone we interviewed."

"Did he look the same?"

"Older, but mostly the same."

"And you recognized him?"

"Immediately."

"And he recognized you?"

Tim cast his eyes downward. "No, he didn't recognize me. If he did, he didn't say anything."

"That must have upset you."

"Of course it did!" he snapped, though he instantly regretted it. No need to make them think he had such a short temper. He softened his tone, though there was still a strained quality resonating in it. "I wasn't expecting a lavish apology or for him to grovel at my feet, begging my forgiveness, but for him to not even remember who I was when I'd spent months remembering every torturous moment he and his stupid friends put me through...I just wanted to scream or something."

"And I'm sure all of your memories of high school hit you again with full force. You had some negative thoughts about him."

"So what if I did?" he asked with a sigh. He was growing tired of this game. "You said yourself that wishing something bad on a former bully didn't make me guilty, just human. All I did was make a dumb wish, and I felt guilty about it as soon as I did. Now do I need to get a lawyer or something?"

Gibbs grinned at that, proud of Tim for handling this the way he was. Sure, he was growing emotional about the entire thing, even snapping at the detective once or twice, but under the circumstances most people would have done the same thing, guilty or innocent.

Washburn excused herself and exited the interrogation room. Gibbs and Kelly met her in the hall. "I don't know what you're aiming at," Gibbs growled. "Yeah, maybe Tony pokes some fun at him here and there, but that's the way it goes with every Probie. Hell, even I took it when I first joined."

"Maybe so, Agent Gibbs, but I'm guessing you didn't suffer the kind of bullying that Agent McGee did in high school."

"Oh, so what? I'm not cheapening what he went through, but not every bullied kid shows up to school with a bomb strapped to his chest! He left high school ten years ago. Why suddenly decide now to act on the anger he felt back then?"

"Repressed anger," she suggested. "It's possible that the way he's treated by his teammates—no matter how mild by comparison—brought back memories of high school that he had hidden away. Seeing Cpl. Wickmar three weeks ago on that ship could have exacerbated it and then, seeing that his tormentor didn't even remember him, it set off the bomb inside of him. The fuse itself could have been burning for a while now, maybe even since he'd started high school."

"He's not some kind of booby trap," Gibbs snarled. "He's a highly trained special agent who may suffer from self-doubt now and then, and who gets annoyed and angry the same way any person would. But the kid would never hurt a person unless it was in self-defense, and even then I'm not so sure."

"That's been said about many people who have gone on to commit heinous crimes. Sometimes those people don't even realize what they've done. They remember something in their subconscious but brush it off as having been a dream."

"Oh, so now you're a psychiatrist, Detective? I'd love to see the degree that qualifies you to diagnose my man."

"Don't get so hot under the collar," Washburn said with a roll of her eyes. "I'm not making a diagnosis; I'm just offering up theories and counter arguing your comments."

"Well, here's another little comment for you to dissect and analyze: how do you explain Wickmar's friends mistaking McGee for a young woman? I know he has some soft features, but I can't imagine anyone mistaking him for a woman."

"Those men were intoxicated at the time, were they not?"

"They may have had a drink or two, but they would have had to consume an entire bottle of vodka to make that kind of mistake."

"Fine, fine!" Washburn conceded. She was tired of arguing with this man who was more unmoving than a brick wall. "But that doesn't mean he still isn't involved."

Gibbs was on his last nerve. He stepped up to her and she took a step back for comfort's sake. Gibbs took another step and another until her back was against the wall and he was towering over her. "If you're not going to arrest my man, we'll just leave now."

Washburn frowned. They really didn't have much to go on at the moment, certainly not enough to make an official arrest. All they had was a thin connection and a flimsy theory. "Let the Metro psychiatrist talk to Agent McGee," she requested. "If he thinks we're looking in the wrong direction, I'll cross your agent off our suspect list." Sensing his hesitancy, she quickly added, "What have you got to lose?"

"Fair enough," he said, "but I'll have to okay it with him."

When he entered the interrogation room, Tim was still sitting in his chair. His elbows were resting on the table and his hands wrapped around his head, holding it up as it sagged down. He barely glanced up when the door opened.

"Boss, I swear I didn't do any of this."

Gibbs had to grin. "You think I don't know that, McGee? You're not a killer."

"So what happens now?"

He fell into the chair on the other side of the table, crossing his arms in front of him. "They want you to be evaluated by their psych guy."

Tim snorted. "Great…now I'm a mental patient."

"It's just them grasping at straws, McGee. The guy will see that you're perfectly sane and that you're not hiding anything; then they'll drop the whole thing and we can get back to finding the real killer."

He looked up, his big green eyes catching Gibbs' icy blue ones. "Do I have to see this guy?" Tim asked, sounding not unlike a child asking if he has to get a booster shot or has to eat all of his vegetables.

"No, but if you don't I can tell you it won't help your cause."

"Then I guess I don't have much of a choice," he said with a sad smile.

Gibbs pushed his chair back and stood. "I'll let them know. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get out of here."

"Boss?" he called out hesitantly.

"Yeah, McGee?"

"Have they found Fitcher?"

"Not that I know. Metro sent some people to meet him at his work place. Besides, it may be nothing."

Tim nodded though he didn't believe that. This was something; what that particular something was he didn't know. "Well, even so, I hope they find him. I'll sleep better tonight if they do."

"I hope so too, McGee."

* * *

**AN**: Happy Halloween, guys!


	13. Chapter 13

"I want some good news, DiNozzo."

Tony winced and considered feigning cell phone troubles to avoid further upsetting Gibbs. "You're not going to get it from me, boss. I talked to his father-in-law who owns the car place; he said Fitcher left for lunch three hours ago and hasn't returned. His car is still there, too."

"Did you talk to his wife?"

"She hasn't seen or talked to him since this morning."

Gibbs frowned. He and Tim were currently occupying a conference room at the station, waiting for the psych guy to get there. Tim hadn't said a word since they'd been brought there, but now he was looking intently at Gibbs while he spoke with Tony. Gibbs almost wanted to turn his back to the young agent, not let him know that things were beginning to look even worse. "Keep me informed," he said to Tony.

"Boss…" Tony paused, not wanting to stick his nose in too deep and incur the wrath of Gibbs, but dying to get the inside scoop. Tim was his teammate (and, he would begrudgingly admit, a sort of younger brother to him) and it was only fair that he know the entire situation. Besides, Abby kept pestering him to ask. "Boss, what exactly is happening down there?"

"A lot of talk and very little substance from the Metro detectives, DiNozzo. McGee and I are meeting with some guy in a few minutes. We should be back soon."

He flipped the phone closed without another word and reclaimed his seat beside Tim. The younger agent was still looking at him expectantly. He knew the news was bad and Gibbs couldn't tell him otherwise. He could, however, soften the blow. "They're still looking for Fitcher."

Tim closed his eyes and slowly nodded his head. "But they aren't going to find him, right? I mean, not until tomorrow maybe? They'll find his body somewhere and blame me again?"

"No one is going to blame you, McGee. I told you, we're going to get this settled then go back to NCIS."

"If they let me."

"I will bulldoze over them if I have to."

At that, Tim offered a pitiful laugh, one without an ounce of humor in it. It was mostly a deflection tactic. He was trying not to think about what Fitcher was likely going through at that very moment.

* * *

He stirs slightly atop the bed while she sits by and watches. She has him situated on his stomach with his hands pulled above his head and bound to the headboard and his legs splayed behind him, each ankle tied to a bed post, shaping his body into an upside-down 'Y.' He is naked, save for his underwear.

"Oh," he moans as he tries to open his eyes. His head is pounding so hard he can barely think. "Ooooh," he repeats in a throaty, guttural tone. Why can't he move? Where is he? Where are Linda and the kids?

He can remember kissing them all goodbye that morning before he left for work. Linda reminded him that he had to bring Matthew to soccer practice that afternoon and it was their turn to bring snacks, so would he please pick up some snack cakes during his lunch break? He said that of course he would, gave her an extra peck on the lips, and headed off to work. And then….and then what?

His heavy lids finally push open, the tired eyes beneath moving slowly about within their sockets as they adjust to the light. There isn't much, but a lamp on the nightstand is on; it gives the room an eerie, somber glow.

As his eyes take in his surroundings they fall upon a figure, the only other person in the room. She sits there, one leg crossed lazily over the other, her unblinking and unmoving eyes trained on him. Something is in her hand, something she is twirling about and caressing with the same tender strokes Linda often used while rubbing his head after a long day at work. The woman looks vaguely familiar, but it takes him a few moments to remember.

Her eyes catch his and her lips curl into a smile; it's not a pleasant one. "Glad to see you're finally awake, sleepyhead."

"You…" he whispers as he finds his voice. "You asked me for directions…for your sister's house…"

"And you, poor thing, didn't know that I don't even have a sister."

His eyes close once more and he breathes loudly through his mouth, heaving and panting between his groans. "What is all this? Some joke? Did Bruce put you up to this?"

"Don't know who Bruce is, but if he put me up to this he can't be much of a friend." She uncrosses her legs, letting them slide open and offering her prisoner a peek at what lies beneath. He misguidedly takes the bait, sneaking a quick glance.

"Enjoying the view?" she asks. He at least has the good grace to avert his eyes. But it's not enough to assuage her. "I'll bet a big tough man like you…" She pauses, a steely glint coming into his eyes before continuing. "Well, you must have seen a lot of this in your life. I'll bet you were the kind of guy who would gladly help some poor, drunk girl out of her clothes, telling yourself that just because she can't say no, it's okay to do whatever you want to her."

"I never did that," he says firmly.

"Don't lie!"

"I never! Never!" he cries, not sure why he wants so desperately for this obviously unhinged woman to believe him. "I may not be perfect and I won't say I haven't looked at other women, even since I got married, but I'm not some sick bastard who takes advantage of drunk women."

"He says, acting as though he's completely innocent of ever hurting someone," she announces loudly in an acerbic tone. "Is tormenting a peer—one who is a smarter and better man than you can ever hope to be—any more decent than raping some drunk chick at a party? You think because the things you did weren't going to get you thrown into jail that it somehow makes it okay?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he spits out.

She smacks him on the back of the head with the object she has in her hand. It doesn't help his already throbbing head and his vision goes black for a moment.

"Don't play stupid! You know damn well what I'm talking about! You and your meathead friends bullying some poor kid. And why? Because you were jealous! You were jealous that he was so much younger and still was smarter than you'd ever be. You knew you'd grow up and live a shit life while he actually made something of himself."

And suddenly it hits him, much like she had seconds before. That kid…that geeky little kid in high school. God, he can't even remember the pathetic little guy's name, though he does remember those big green eyes—he especially remembers them encumbered with fear. What a turn of events it would be if his former target could see him now, his own brown eyes filled with fear.

"Did he put you up to this?" he asks in a soft voice. "He pay you to do this?"

She laughs. "Pay me? No, sweetie, I work pro bono." She crouches down beside the bed, resting her chin on the edge of the mattress. His arm covers most of his face, but she can see him peeking out at her with a terrified look, his lip quivering ever so slightly. "He doesn't even know I'm doing this," she whispers. Her fingernail trails gently along the skin of his arm. It gives her joy to feel his muscles grow tense at her touch. "It'll be my little surprise for him. Do you want to help me? Surprise him, I mean."

"I just want to go home. My wife…she's probably worried. And I need to take my son to his soccer practice. You've had your payback and I've learned my lesson. Tell what's his face that he got me and that I'm sorry for the stupid things we did to him."

"Is this some sort of joke to you?" she snaps. She grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back so he sees her face. "You think you can just give some piss-poor, half-hearted apology ten years after the fact and I'll just forget the whole thing? Do you honestly think that one stupid apology can erase four years of torment?"

"No," he admits, trying to escape her iron grasp. "I was a jerk and I admit it! But what's done is done and I've gone on with my life."

"_You've_ gone on with your life, sure! What about him? Think he just forgot all about it?"

"Well then, what do you want from me?" he bellows with all the energy he has in him. The question echoes around them.

She is silent and he waits, heart pounding, for her to answer. She lets his head fall back down onto the bed and, without a word, climbs atop the bed and situates herself above him, one knee on either side of his body. She lowers herself on top of him, and whispers in his ear, "I want you to suffer."

* * *

The Metro psychiatrist was a portly man by the name of Walter Manning. He had a large bald patch on the top of his head, encircled by graying hair and a mustache that looked like a fuzzy white caterpillar. It curled upward when he smiled—and he smiled quite a bit. He wore a green sweater and brown corduroy pants, making him look more like one's jolly old grandfather than a Metro employee. He was very out of place among the many somber and hard faces that filled the rest of the building and he immediately put Tim at ease. Though, Tim supposed, that was one of the talents you acquired when studying psychiatry.

"Timothy McGee," Walter read from the file. "I see you were a very advanced student."

"Yes, sir."

Walter peeked over his the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. "No need to call me, sir, Agent McGee."

"Right. Sorry, sir." Realizing his mistake, he smiled sheepishly.

The man smiled. "I take it you had an upbringing that focused on polite manners."

Tim nodded. "My parents always stressed the importance of having good manners. I guess they could be a bit strict in that respect, but I didn't mind so much."

"Your father was in the Navy I see. I know that sometimes men and women in the military can run their homes like a boot camp."

He averted his eyes. "No, my father didn't do that. I mean, he could be hard on me and my sister and he made sure we did our chores and homework, but it definitely felt like a home, not a boot camp."

Walter nodded as he closed the file and placed it on the side table. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. I'm sure he's proud you've become an NCIS agent."

"Yeah…yeah, he had high expectations for me."

"Did that make for a stressful childhood?"

"No…well, sometimes…but only sometimes." He looked back up at Walter. The man smiled back pleasantly as though the two of them were there to discuss recent movies they'd seen. "Can we just talk about what they sent me here to talk about?"

"Of course. Would you like to explain it to me in your own words?"

Tim sighed. "Two men have been murdered and I knew both of them in high school. They were bullies and I was their favorite target, so Metro thinks I had something to do with it, so they brought me here. Oh, and another one of the bullies is missing and is probably going to end up like the other two."

"And that's it?"

"That is it," Tim affirmed. "That's why they sent me in here to talk to you. They think I'm a nut."

The corners of Walter's mouth twitched upward into a small smile. "If it's any consolation, I don't think you're a nut."

"You haven't known me very long."

"It doesn't take me very long to figure that out."

"And you figured that out by me tell you a little about my father or something?"

"I'm sorry, Agent McGee, but much like a magician, I cannot reveal my secrets. Now, I haven't had a chance to read the full report of the case, but could you tell me in what condition the men were found?"

Tim closed his eyes, recalling images of the two bodies; they made his stomach churn. "Cpl. Wickmar was covered in…um…well, fecal matter, I guess you'd say. He was…I mean, it just smelled awful. And he had these…these nails that had been hammered into the skin or something."

"And the other one? Mr. Ashcroft?"

"That one was even worse," Tim whispered. His hands squeezed tightly at the arms of his chair. "He…" A pause as he swallowed down a bit of heavy, warm saliva that kept filling his mouth. He'd start with the least painful infliction and work his way up. "There were long scratches down his back…and his fingers…they were all broken." Tim tried so hard not to picture it, but he couldn't stop it. "And his head had been skinned and peeled open all the way down to the bone."

Walter waited a few seconds before asking, "Anything else?"

"Yeah…an imprint on their backs. It was burned there by some kind of brand or something."

"What did it look like?"

"The letter 'V' with two wings on either side."

"Wings?"

"Yeah…like angel wings or something."

"And does that brand mean anything to you?"

"It means that some psycho is out there, on the loose, and while Metro is focusing on me, someone else is probably being tortured right now." His breathing was labored and heavy. His stomach bubbled violently and he wasn't certain he could swallow it down anymore.

Walter noticed Tim's change in demeanor. He stood quickly and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. "It's okay, Agent McGee, open your eyes."

Tim did as he was told and felt a few rebellious stinging tears slide out. He quickly brushed them away as he felt a blush creep into his cheeks. "Sorry…I didn't mean to do that."

"No need to apologize. Trust me, I've seen it all."

"I know that they think I had something to do with this. If I were the one investigating the case I'd probably suspect me too." He looked up into Walter's eyes and said with great conviction, "But I don't know who's doing this any more than they do. I could never…I couldn't do that to someone or even ask someone else to do it."

"Can you think of anyone in particular who could do this?"

He shook his head. "I don't keep company with those sorts of people."

"Sometimes it can surprise you what people are capable of," Walter said. "Tell me, what kind of person do you think _is_ behind this?"

"A sick and disturbed person," was his answer. "The person doing this has no regard for human life and has major issues. It's not someone I want to know and certainly not someone I would ever count among my friends or even among my acquaintances."

"Not someone you'd like to meet in a dark alley, huh?" Walter asked with a grin.

He looked up with weary, baggy eyes. "Not someone I'd like to meet _ever_."

* * *

She hasn't done anything…yet. He lies there in fearful anticipation of what's to come. At this moment she is seated on the edge of the bed with her back to him.

"Do you know what this is?" she asks, holding the item in front of his face. It's the same one she had been caressing when he'd come to. It is a long and somewhat narrow object. At each end are rings and in the center is a small hole. Something in the center hole glints in the light.

"No." He mentally curses himself for letting that tremor into his voice.

"This," she says as she stands, "is a cigar cutter. People use it to cut the tips off of cigars. You place the tip in here," she explains, pointing to the ominous center hole, "and then squeeze the two ends together." She does this and a blade slices through the center hole. It makes him jump ever so slightly. "I believe they call this a guillotine cigar cutter."

His eye lids flutter closed. "That's very interesting. I can see why. I mean, it does kind of look like those guillotine things."

"I'm surprise you even know what a guillotine is."

"I'm not stupid."

"Of course not," she coos patronizingly. "So then you know that men and women had their heads cut off by the guillotine, yes?"

His heart skips a beat. "Yes…I do. Luckily, you can't fit a head in that thing, unless it was a worm's or something."

"You're right, though I'm not sure it's as lucky as you think. When a person's head is cut off it's quick and not so painless. If you were to cut something else off though…" She doesn't complete the sentence, leaving him to fill in the blanks himself.

"You want money?" he asks. "I'll give you money. I'll give you everything I have. Just…just please, let me go. I won't even go to the cops or anything; this'll just be our little secret."

"Our dirty little secret?' He looks up and sees her sneering at him. "Sorry, but nothing can be changed now. You chose your path and this is where it's lead you."

As he continues to barter and beg, offering her anything he can think of, she takes a place at the head board, still gently caressing her cigar cutter. Ignoring him—his pleads, his cries—she slides one finger (a pinky) through the center hole, stopping at the first knuckle. She looks down and sees that he has pressed his face down into the mattress. His body is trembling. Hers is too, though for quite a different reason. She presses the rings in together.

He screams. She smiles.


	14. Chapter 14

Following Manning's prognosis—that Agent McGee, while having a motive for wanting these men dead, was not so unbalanced from years of torment (and recent months of hazing) that he would seek out revenge on past grievances—the Metro detectives had no choice but to let him go. But they weren't happy about it.

"He nearly lost his lunch just remembering the state of their bodies," Manning confided to Kelly and Washburn. "I can't see him having the stomach to carry out gruesome tortures and murders or taking pleasure in them."

"It could have been an act," Kelly said gruffly.

"If it was Agent McGee is in the wrong line of business. There are some things a person can't fake."

"What about the theory that he suppressed memories of doing any of this?" Washburn asked.

"Possible, but very unlikely. I saw no indication of repressed memories when talking with him. Besides, from what I've read about the two murders they were far too methodical to have been done by someone in that sort of mental state. The person who did this knew what they were doing. I shudder to say they quite enjoyed doing it."

She nodded. "Okay. I guess I should go tell them both the good news."

Tim still hadn't spoken a word since being brought back to the waiting room. He wondered if doctor-patient confidentiality reached this far. Obviously there would be some breach of confidentiality (otherwise why even have the damned psychiatrist on your payroll?) but would he have to tell them everything that had been discussed? Not that Tim had said anything incriminating, of course, but a few embarrassing topics had come up and he hoped they would remain private.

When Washburn entered Tim nearly jumped to his feet. He tried to read her facial expression, hoping to figure out what the verdict was, but her face was so void of anything that he couldn't quite tell.

"You're free to go, Agent McGee."

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and leaned back in his seat. "Just like that?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Well, not quite," she said, "I'm sure you know we expect you to not try and leave town."

Gibbs snorted. "Why would he?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't respond. "And we can't say that we've officially removed you from our list of persons of interest. But for now we can't hold you."

The two men stood, coats in hand, and walked past Washburn with Gibbs leading. Tim caught her eyes as he passed; they were still uncertain, still wondering if there was more to him than she had seen so far.

Tim looked away. He still felt guilty about what had happened to Wickmar and Ashcroft (and Fitcher, as he had already resigned himself to the thought that Fitcher would soon meet the same fate as the other two), so he didn't need the added scorn and suspicion of anyone else.

"Glad that's over," he muttered as he and Gibbs slid into the car. "Though, I guess it really isn't. They'll still try to pin it on me."

"That's why we've got to find the person who killed Wickmar and Ashcroft ourselves."

He looked at Gibbs. "But Ashcroft isn't in our jurisdiction. Won't we be impeding on their case?"

"We offered them a joint investigation and they turned it down," Gibbs said as he took a sharp turn. "That shouldn't stop us from finding Wickmar's killer. The fact that the person who killed Wickmar also killed Ashcroft isn't our fault."

Tim was quiet as they took another sharp turn; he was so lost in his own thoughts he didn't even notice they were going well over the speed limit, something that worried Gibbs.

"Boss?" he said finally. "You…you know I didn't do this, right?"

Gibbs almost laughed. "I wouldn't have mouthed off to Metro if I had even an inkling that you were involved. You're not a killer."

"What about the others? Tony and Kate…and Abby?"

"What about them?"

"Do you think they'll suspect me?"

"Don't know," Gibbs said as he swerved into the right lane, just barely missing an oncoming truck. "Though it may be to your benefit if they do."

"How's that?"

"They'll think twice before poking fun at you."

* * *

Linda Fitcher was harried and tired when she opened the door for Tony and Kate. After introducing themselves and flashing their badges, she invited them inside. A girl who couldn't have been older than three was lying on her stomach in the living room, carefully drawing pictures, a pile of crayons resting beside her. With her legs swaying back and forth above her she didn't look like a little girl who knew her daddy may never come back.

Her mother knelt beside her. "Julie, why don't you go to your room to finish coloring. I need to talk to some people."

Julie stood, grabbing her art supplies, and looked at Tony and Kate with her head tilted to the side. "Who are you?"

"We're federal agents," Tony said, knowing the young girl probably had no idea what that meant. "We're a special kind of police officer. I'm Tony and this is Kate."

"I'm Julie and I'm gonna be four soon."

Tony couldn't help but smile.

"Julie," her mother repeated, giving her a gentle push toward the hallway, "go color in your room. We may have to pick your brother up in a little while."

Tony and Kate waited until Julie had left and they had heard the soft closing of a door before they spoke. "We're sorry to barge in on you like this, Mrs. Fitcher," Kate said.

"I don't understand," Linda said. "You said you work for the Navy? But Ryan wasn't in the military."

"We're working a case that may involve him," Tony explained. "He had two high school friends, Daniel Wickmar and Steven Ashcroft. Did you ever meet them?"

She nodded. "They were at our wedding. Ryan hasn't been in touch with them for a while, though; I think the three of them sort of went their separate ways." She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and asked, "What have they got to do with this?"

"They've both been murdered," Kate said.

That sent Linda over the edge. She let out a heavy sob as tears began spilling. "And you think…you think the person who killed them may have killed Ryan?"

"It's only a theory at this point."

She shook her head violently. "No…no, there's no reason anyone would want to kill him. He was a good man!"

Tony knew the question he had to ask. It wouldn't be a pleasant one and he was already bracing himself for the anger it would incite. "Mrs. Fitcher, we have reason to believe your husband's old friends were killed because of a little bullying they did when they were in high school. Did your husband ever talk about that?"

Linda started to shake her head, prepared to vehemently deny the claim at which he was hinting. Halfway through, she stopped and drooped her head, a hand coming up to her mouth. "We all went out one night a few years back. It was me, Ryan, and them; I think one of them had a girlfriend with him, but I don't remember her name. We went to this crappy bar and they started drinking…a lot. I think they were trying to keep up with each other, beer for beer. Some stupid macho thing. Anyway, after a few beers they started reminiscing about high school, talking about some of the things they'd done."

"Such as?" Kate prompted.

"I don't really remember. I stopped listening, not really wanting to hear it." She looked up and bit her bottom lip gently. "When Ryan and I met in college, he was something of a cocky, macho guy. I settled him down, got his head on straight. He admitted that he hadn't been the nicest guy in high school, but that he was past that. I'm not saying that changes anything he may have done back then, but why wait all this time? Why do something now?"

Tony and Kate glanced at each other, neither certain of the answer to her question.

"Did he ever mention anyone in particular?" Tony asked.

She shrugged. "When he and his friends were talking that night they kept mentioning someone they called 'the computer geek.' I guess it was just some poor kid."

Linda stood, once again wiping away tears. "If you have no more questions, I have to pick my son up in an hour and I still have a lot to do until then."

"We'll be in touch if we hear anything more," Kate promised as she and Tony also stood. "And if you can think of anything, please call us."

As they were escorted out, the two of them were met with an unpleasant sight. "Detective Kelly, Detective Washburn," Tony greeted with a big, fake smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

Kelly glared at the two. "I could say the same for you. Mind telling me why you're here?"

"Investigating a case, the same as you, I'm guessing."

"Last I checked, Mr. Fitcher was a civilian."

"And you're right," Tony retorted, giving the man a grin. "But since there's a strong link between our dead Marine and our missing Mr. Fitcher, we figured it would be smart to find out what we could."

Kelly stepped up to him so that they were toe to toe. "Listen up, 'cause I've got a message I want you to deliver to your boss: if you and your team interfere with our investigation, I'll have to assume you're trying to cover up for your buddy and will waste no time in charging each of you. Got it?"

"Could you repeat that? I may have to write it down somewhere so I don't forget it."

Rather than reply, the man turned and walked toward the door with his partner, muttering something about a "little smartass."

"You don't need to push his buttons that way," Kate chided as she and Tony slid into the Sedan.

"I know," he said as he put the car into gear. He flashed her a smile, adding, "but it's so much fun!"


	15. Chapter 15

"Fitcher's wife says he hadn't seen much of Wickmar and Ashcroft since their wedding," Tony said as he and Kate brought Gibbs and Tim up to speed on the case. "The only time she had seen them since then was when they went out to a bar a few years ago."

"She says that the guys had a lot to drink and started bragging about their glory days in high school," Kate continued. "She can't remember them giving any names, but they did keep referring back to someone they called 'the computer geek.'" She gave Tim a sympathetic look, but he didn't even notice. He was staring deep into space as his mind ran rampant.

Gibbs looked at the three pictures on the plasma. Two were of the deceased men as their bodies had been found and one was a picture of a smiling Ryan Fitcher which had been cropped from a family photo. They had nothing; no leads, no clues, no suspects. All they had was a blue-haired woman who had a taste for torture. The fact that this case hit so close to home for one of his team members—for Tim of all people—made it that much more maddening that he didn't know where to go from here. He did know one thing, though.

"McGee, you're staying at my place tonight."

Tim looked up, slightly dazed. "Boss, I'll be fine by myself. I'm just a little tired. Nothing serious."

"I'm not doing it for your health. I don't want to give Metro any more ammo to go at you with. From now until we catch this psycho, I don't want you spending your nights alone. I want you to have an alibi for every hour of the day."

"Got it, boss," he muttered nervously. He'd never been inside Gibbs' house. Tony had once alluded to a boat in the basement, but that was about it. Did he have a guest room or would Tim crash on the couch? Would he be able to go home first and pack an overnight bag? What if he started talking in his sleep again…or worse? When Tim was under a great amount of stress he often had embarrassing episodes in his sleep. Though, if the previous night was any indication he wasn't going to get much sleep that night anyway.

Gibbs looked around impatiently, asking, "Where is Abby?"

"Right here, Gibbs," she chirped as she hastened toward him. She shot Tim a quick half-smile, hoping he'd forgiven her for her earlier prying. She hadn't though much of it at the time, but now she wished she could go back and stop herself from doing it in the first place. After all, if she hadn't blurted that out in front of the Metro detectives they wouldn't have had reason to suspect him and he wouldn't have been put through an interrogation. Though, she conceded, his past would have come out eventually, but by then they might have been better prepared.

"Have you got something?" Gibbs asked irritably, pulling Abby from her mile-a-minute thoughts.

She handed him a print out. "The substance I found on our Cpl.'s shoe. It was hydrochloric acid."

Gibbs looked at the print out, though it was a superfluous action; the information may as well have been in Greek considering how little of it he understood. "Is that supposed to help us?"

"Well, hydrochloric acid is sometimes known as flux and can be used as a cleaning agent to remove impurities from metal."

"Boss, they use it in things like welding, soldering, and brazing," Tim piped up. "It removes oxidation."

"So our killer might be someone who works with metals," Tony theorized.

"Or she holds her captives somewhere that was once used for welding or soldering," Kate said. "We've still got a lot of places to check."

"Then you'd better get started," Gibbs said to all of them. "Kate, Tony, I want you to run a check on welders, solders, anyone who has anything to do with metal work. See if any of them are connected to any of the victims." After a second he added, "Including Fitcher."

Tim stood. "What about me, boss?"

"I want you to check our victims' phone records. See if they were in touch with each other or anyone else from your high school days. Then I want you to think back to your high school days."

Tim's wince was visible to everyone. Revisiting one's high school days was not a pleasant task when those days had been filled with bullying, teasing and torment. These were things he'd spent so long trying to block out. It wasn't fair that he now had to unlock them once again.

"What do you need to know?" he asked.

"Everything. Tell me who else targeted you so we know who might be another victim. Who else was bullied by these guys? Who else might want them all dead? You couldn't possibly be the only one who didn't like them."

That was true and Tim knew it. While the trio of boys had been mostly popular, as with every high school star they also had their critics, namely those students whose lives they'd made miserable.

He frowned. Aside from him there was one other person who had been a regular target of the bullies, but he wasn't sure he should mention it, not yet at least. "Okay," he agreed with a forced smile. "I guess I should let you know if I remember any blue-haired women," he quipped wryly. It didn't earn him a laugh from Gibbs, though.

"Abbs," Gibbs said, beckoning for her to follow. They left the bullpen and entered the elevator, Gibbs with his expressionless face and Abby fidgeting nervously as she knew what was coming.

He leaned forward and flipped the switch to stop the elevator in its path. It gave a small shake as it halted and the lights went dim.

"Want to tell me what you were thinking?" he asked in an even tone.

Abby ducked her head down. "I was worried about him, Gibbs."

"Yeah, I was too."

"And you got him to talk to you," she pointed out. It was an understatement, truth be told; Gibbs didn't ask you to tell him when something was wrong; he _told_ you to tell him and you did because you knew you couldn't lie to Gibbs. "I wanted him to open up to me."

"He doesn't owe you an explanation, Abbs."

"But he owes you one?" she asked.

"Yes, he does, because I need to know if he isn't going to perform to the best of his abilities. If I thought this case was going to give him or us trouble, or if I thought it was going to be too close to home for him, I would have to hand it off to another team. That's why I needed to know it. You didn't need to."

She bit her lip contritely. "I wasn't trying to pry…well, okay, I sort of was," she conceded at seeing Gibbs' disbelieving look. "It's just that Tim is always so open, especially with me. I mean, he could never hide something." She leaned back against the wall, hands clasped in front of her. "I guess I was sore that he wasn't being open this time. It was like I was being left out."

Gibbs was silent as he studied her, thoughts of Tim's interrogation coming back to him. Before today he would have let the incident go with little more than a stern look (if that). Scolding Abby wasn't something he'd done before nor was it something he enjoyed doing, but he knew he would have thought less of himself if he'd let Abby think needlessly sticking her nose into a person's personal life was at all okay, especially under these circumstances.

"I know your heart was in the right place," he told her. She hadn't done it to spite or hurt Tim. "But you need to think before you do things. Sometimes McGee isn't going to want to tell you things and you have to respect that." She nodded. "When he's ready to tell you, he will."

"I am sorry," she told him emphatically. "If I hadn't gone snooping Metro would never have found out about this and Tim wouldn't have had to go down there and be interrogated like some criminal."

Gibbs shook his head. "Abbs, it was going to happen with or without your help. They came to us, remember? A quick look at Wickmar's and Ashcroft's pasts would have shown a connection and we'd have had no choice but to admit that McGee was also connected to them. They'd have found out eventually and then would have accused us of a cover-up and that would've just given them more reason to go after McGee. As much of a pain in the ass as they are, I'm glad we got it out of the way. Not that I think it's really out of the way just yet," he added, "but the hard part's over."

"What's the easy part?"

He leaned past her to flip the switch. The elevator was once again in motion. "Finding the psycho who killed those men without Metro interfering."


	16. Chapter 16

She looks with disdain at the lifeless body. She had hoped he would last at least a little longer. "And it was just starting to get fun," she sighs as she unties his binds. His hands—if you can call those mangled messes 'hands'—fall to the bed with twin plops. His sliced fingers litter the floor around her.

She pushes him off the bed and onto the plastic tarp waiting below, which she wraps around the corpse. Despite her petite stature, she's strong enough to drag him out of the house and toward the two cars in the garage. One is hers and the other is Wickmar's which she hasn't yet gotten disposed of. By now those cops will be looking for it so her best bet is to get rid of it now.

She pops the trunk of Wickmar's car and with a little grunting and straining she manages to lift Fitcher's body and drop inside. She then slams the trunk closed. She'll get to that later. It's too early, too light out. When it gets dark she'll drive it out and leave the car somewhere remote. Then she'll walk to the nearest bus stop and hop a ride. Buses are safer than cabs; cab drivers keep records of their fares.

With nothing to do for a couple of hours, she flips on the television and begins making dinner. As she's stirring the ramen noodles, a news anchor appears on the screen with breaking news. "Two men have been killed in what authorities suspect is the work of a serial killer and a third is missing." Wickmar's and Ashcroft's pictures appear on the screen. "When the bodies of Daniel Wickmar and Steven Ashcroft were found, it was evident that each man had been tortured before being killed. They were both also branded with a strange insignia. The two men were old high school friends and now a third schoolmate of theirs, Ryan Fitcher, has also gone missing." Fitcher's picture joins the first two. "No details are being released at the moment, but authorities say they do have persons of interest in the case. If you have any information on these men, Metro detectives ask that you call their tip hotline."

Her heart jumps as she watches. Hopefully he is watching as well. Hopefully he'll see what she has done for him. She can imagine him at this moment, sitting in his bed and watching the news. Will he smile? Will he be relieved? Will he wonder what angel has been sent down to avenge him?

She is so entranced by the news story and by the pictures of her own imagination that she doesn't notice the water bubbling over. She is able to lift the pot up and move it to a cold burner, but not before a bit of boiling water drips over and burns her. She curses as she hurries to the sink and runs her hand under a stream of cold water. It's not a bad burn, but it still hurts.

"It's their fault," she says aloud, her thoughts on the trio of men she had just killed. No, not men; monsters. Because that's what they were in her mind. They were monsters who deserved what they had coming to them. All she has done is rid the world of three more scumbags. And now it's their fault she has been burned because if she hadn't had to kill them, it wouldn't have been on the news and if it hadn't been on the news she wouldn't have been so distracted that she let the water boil over and if she hadn't been distracted she wouldn't have gotten burned. It all goes back to them, at least in her mind. "Bastards," she mutters before returning to her pot. She looks forward to ridding herself of them all.

* * *

Later that night she sneaks out, donning her usual sunglasses and blue wig. She starts the car and pulls it out onto the street. She doesn't turn on the radio; she's enjoying the sound of his worthless body rolling around in the trunk, the way it hits the sides when she slams on the brakes.

There isn't much traffic so she knows she'll have no problem dumping the body and car. She pulls up alongside a meter, even tossing a few coins in there so the police don't notice at first. That gives her more time.

She tosses the keys inside the car along with the sunglasses and wig. She knows she can't use those anymore now. Too many people have seen her. She locks the car and begins walking down the street. There's a bus stop about seven blocks away. It's a long walk, but she doesn't mind. It gives her time to think.

Who should be next? Her list is beginning to dwindle by now. She'll almost be sad to come to the end of it. But by then he'll have taken notice of her. He'll apologize for ignoring her before. Then he'll take her in his arms and they'll flee. She doesn't know where, but then that doesn't matter, does it? As long as they have each other everything will be perfect.

She arrives at the stop just as the bus pulls up. She smiles. Perfect.


	17. Chapter 17

"Come on, McGee," Gibbs muttered as he gave the sleeping form a push, "time to get up."

Tim had crashed at Gibbs' home the previous night, as per their agreement. The moment they'd walked through the door he'd insisted on taking the couch. Gibbs hadn't been in any mood to argue with him, nor did he really care, so he let Tim crash onto the couch—the kid had been asleep before his head hit the pillow—while he settled into his own bed. They'd both been exhausted from the previous day's work and not a single sound had been heard through the Gibbs' residence the previous night.

Tim sat up and blinked wearily. "I'm up, boss," he mumbled, "I'm up."

"There's a bathroom upstairs that you can use. You'll probably only get lukewarm water for a shower, though."

He nodded as he kicked off the blanket and grabbed his overnight bag. His years in the boy scouts had instilled in him the need to be prepared, so he always packed an extra toothbrush, deodorant, and clothes in a bag which he kept at work. Never knew when you'd need to pull an all-nighter.

Bag in hand, Tim trudged up to the bathroom to ready himself for the day. That deep-set feeling of dread still filled his stomach, giving him little optimism for the day. He didn't think he'd be able to feel okay again until this crazy person was locked up.

While Tim was upstairs, Gibbs' phone rang. "Yeah," he answered as he poured a cup of coffee.

"Agent Gibbs? This is Detective Kelly from Metro."

He grimaced and glared angrily at the phone as though the man on the other end would be able to see his displeasure. "It's too early for me to deal with you guys. I told you before and I'll tell you again: my man isn't a killer."

"We've got another body."

The words made Gibbs stop in his tracks. He didn't even ask whose body it was. "Where?"

"On a street in Alexandria. A cop was giving a ticket to a car parked by an expired meter. He noticed that license plate and called it in."

"Why'd he call it in?"

"Because it was Cpl. Wickmar's car."

"Where was the body?"

"Stuffed in the trunk."

"What sort of state was it in?"

There was a pause on the other end. "I'd rather not describe it. You'll get the chance to see for yourself."

"Same brand burned onto his skin?"

"Exact match."

Gibbs looked up the stairs. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Tim was up there getting ready for work, unaware of what had happened. Actually, that probably wasn't true; by the time they'd gone home the previous night, everyone on the team had been certain that Fitcher was dead; it had just been a matter of when his body would turn up.

This wouldn't do much to lift the young man's spirits.

"We'd like to meet up with you and your team," Kelly continued.

"Where?"

"Your turf if you want. We can't let this go on any longer."

Gibbs felt his face turn red as anger boiled up inside of him. "Agent McGee hasn't left my sight since you interrogated him."

"Yeah, we know." The answer wasn't the one Gibbs had been expecting. "You think we'd let our prime suspect walk off without having him tailed? We had two agents staking out your house all night. Still there, in fact."

He stalked into the living room and peeked through the curtains. Across the street was parked a dark Sedan with tinted windows. Gibbs figured he must have been more tired the night before than he'd thought; he should have noticed this earlier.

"Glad you've finally come to your senses. So why do you want to meet with us?"

"Compare notes, see if we can't figure this out together. Two heads are better than one, you know? And besides, your man may have some ideas about who else might be taking out his past bullies."

"And no accusations will be made against Agent McGee?" Gibbs couldn't help feeling suspicious. It was his nature.

"Gibbs, I swear to you on my mother's grave, we're not after your man. Now I know we haven't exactly been best buddies so far, but we want this thing wrapped up as much as you guys do. Do you want to help us or not?"

"Okay," he conceded. "Be at NCIS headquarters at 0700. We'll compare notes."

"And we'll be able to interview your man again?"

"Sure, as long as I'm there with him."

"Fine by me. See you then." The line went dead and Gibbs flipped his phone closed. He looked up the stairs once more and began to worry about Tim. He knew, of course, that Tim hadn't done anything wrong (and he'd known that from the beginning), but he also knew that Tim was already in a bad state of mind from the events of the past two days. This would be another hard blow.

* * *

Tim let the water wash over him. He didn't care that it was cold; it still felt wonderful against his skin. He closed his eyes and let the shower's stream hit him head on. It dribbled down his face and into his mouth.

Something was wrong; he could feel it in his gut. He'd heard Gibbs' phone go off moments ago. No one would call this early unless it was important. What could be more important than the discovery of another body?

Fitcher was dead. Everyone knew it. Tim had known it the second he'd found out the man was missing. Someone was going to great lengths to make these men suffer. While he'd held his grudges for many years, even Tim couldn't stomach the idea of someone being so meticulous in torture. He despised these men and hated what they had done to him, but that only made him feel guilty for how they'd ended up.

A pounding on the door yanked him from his thoughts. "McGee? You okay?"

"I'm fine, boss."

"You've been in there for almost half an hour."

Had he? It seemed like he'd only gotten into the shower five minutes ago. How long had he zoned out? "I'll be out soon," he said as he turned off the water. Had he even bothered to wash himself, or had he just been standing there the entire time?

"Hurry it up. We need to get in earlier than I thought." A pause. "Metro is coming by."

Tim stepped out and grabbed his towel. "Why?"

Another pause. "Fitcher."

Tim stopped. "Oh…right."

"They found the body. The good news is they don't suspect you now."

"Great," Tim said in a somber tone. He dried his face and looked at himself in the mirror covered in condensation.

As if hearing his grim tone, Gibbs said, "We're going to find this psycho, McGee."

_Yeah_, he thought, _but who else will have to die before we do?_

* * *

Kate and Tony were shocked when the Metro detectives arrived bright and early at their desks. Gibbs and Tim hadn't yet arrived and they weren't certain how to deal with their guests.

"We found another body," Washburn said after catching their curious looks.

"McGee was with Gibbs all night," Tony spurted out before they could say anything more.

Detective Kelly rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we know. That's not why we're here."

"So you guys finally believe that Tim is innocent?" Kate asked in surprise. She'd expected it to be far more difficult to get him off the Metro suspect list.

"Don't look so shocked, Agent Todd. Despite what you may think of us, we don't just pick and choose who we want to suspect; we can only depend on the evidence. We were wrong and we can admit that. We're not perfect."

"Glad you guys have wised up," Tony said with a grin.

"You and me both, DiNozzo."

All four turned to see Gibbs exit the elevator, a timid Tim not far behind. They gave the detectives perfunctory nods before depositing their things at their respective desks. Tim looked far better rested than he had the day before, but his eyes were still full of dread, especially when he saw Kelly and Washburn.

"Glad we could meet to compare notes," Washburn said with sincerity. She held the case file in her hands and pulled a picture out of it, tossing it onto Gibbs' desk. The four NCIS agents leaned over to view the photo. Tim immediately wished he hadn't.

"Fitcher was found in the trunk of Wickmar's missing car. Our ME marks TOD as being around 5:00 yesterday evening. All of his fingers were sliced off, though we couldn't find them in the trunk or any other part of the car."

"Maybe the murderer kept them as trophies," Tony suggested. He could feel his own stomach beginning to churn.

"The guy also had deep cuts on the inner walls of his rectum," Kelly added. "It's like he was sodomized with a knife or something."

Gibbs kept a poker face. "Cause of death?"

"Blood loss," Kelly said. "All of these wounds were inflicted prior to his death. My guess is our sicko was in the middle of the torture session and probably hadn't anticipated him losing so much blood so quickly."

He tossed another picture down on the desk. "Same brand," he said, pointing down. The picture showed Wickmar's back on which the same wings-encased V was burnt into his skin. "Same killer."

"Don't need a brand to tell us that," Gibbs muttered. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Washburn said as she dropped another picture down onto the desk. "On the front seat we found a pair of oversized sunglasses and a blue wig. Looks like the blue-haired lady struck again."

"She'll probably find some new disguise," Kate said. "She thinks people will be on the lookout for a blue-haired woman so she'll change it up."

"So we should look for a green-haired woman now?" Kelly asked gruffly. He hated teaming up with others on cases, especially people outside of Metro. Having virtually no leads—at least no leads now that Tim had been cleared—only increased his ire and frustration. "Look, we've given you what we know. Now it's your turn."

"We've told you everything we know," Tony said. "You're the ones who found Ashcroft and Fitcher."

"Maybe so, but you guys have got Agent McGee on your team. He may not have had anything to do with their deaths, but he's still the only thing the victims had in common." He turned his attention to Tim who had been silently standing in the background through all of this. "Any clue who might be holding a grudge, kid?"

Tim was still focused on the gruesome shot of the body. The hands were so mangled and stained with blood. Where there should have been fingers, there were stubs encrusted with dried blood that was so dark it looked more black than red. He bent and flexed his own fingers, just to make sure they were still attached.

"Hey, kid, I'm talking to you."

He looked up into the impatient face of Detective Kelly. "I…" He paused, glancing back down at the pictures and then up again. "I don't know that I can pinpoint any one person. These guys were popular, but they also pissed off a lot of people."

"Like who?"

"Anyone who was in the computer club or on the chess team or in the band or in the science club," he listed off monotonously and without a trace of sarcasm. "Or anyone who was geeky or different or quiet or who they just plain didn't like."

Kelly groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Can you narrow it down a bit?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know all of their names, but there was one guy and I know they stole all of his clothes while he was showering after gym class. One of them—I think Ashcroft—asked out some girl as a joke. He got her drunk and after she passed out he took some…well…some embarrassing pictures of her. Uh…oh! This kid, Nick something, he was the equipment manager for the boys' basketball team. He was in there doing inventory for the basketball coach and they locked him in there. I think Dan was jealous because Nick was tutoring his girlfriend or something."

Washburn raised her eyebrows. "None of these students complained about these things?"

"No, they complained." Tim left the implications of his answer dangling in the air before them.

"Anyone else?" Kelly asked as he jotted down the information.

He was hesitant. Everyone noticed.

"Don't try to protect anybody, kid. If you don't tell us now, it'll just come out later."

"Well, I had a friend in high school and he got about as much bullying as I did. He was a year older than I was and had skipped a grade too, so we were kind of in the same boat. The other students didn't like us; they thought we made them look stupid or something."

"What kind of things did they do to your friend?"

"Mostly the same stuff they did to me. You had your typical wedgies and noogies and all that. Then you had the worse stuff like stealing things from your locker or pouring stuff in it." He frowned deeply. "They poured maggots in mine once."

It wasn't that Kelly didn't sympathize with Tim for what he'd gone through, but this was an investigation, not a therapy session. He didn't have time to listen to him recount every grievance he'd had in high school. "Do you think this friend might be angry enough to want to kill these guys?"

"No," Tim said honestly, "I don't. He's moved on as far as I know. I called him three weeks ago and he seemed fine."

"Three weeks?" Kelly asked, referring back to his notes. "That's about the time you ran into Wickmar, right?"

Tim nodded. "I called Chris to tell him."

"Chris? That's the friend's name?"

"Yes…Chris Blanchard." His face grew red as he started to think that this could very well be his fault after all. If Chris had gone off on Dan and the others after their phone call, wasn't he partially to blame? He'd made the call, had provided the catalyst; didn't that make him indirectly guilty?

"You know where this Blanchard guy lives?" Kelly asked.

He shook his head. "I've got a phone number, but I'm not exactly sure about his address. I think he's somewhere in Maryland. I know he does tech support for some big business." At Kelly's request, he wrote down Chris' phone number and handed it over.

"Anything else you think it pertinent to tell us, Agent McGee?"

"No."

"Good. Then we'll be on our way." He flipped his notepad closed as Washburn gathered the contents of their file. "We can take the case from here, Gibbs. We've got the two freshest bodies and only one of them is even in your jurisdiction. Though, I trust you'll let us know if you find anything else?"

"We will," Gibbs said, his face stone cold. "I trust you will as well?"

"Of course."

"And I trust you'll send us the contents of your file and full reports from your ME and forensic scientist?"

That caused a small double-take from Kelly, but he took it in stride. "I'll have it all sent over. Any other demands?"

"Just keep us in the loop."

Kelly grunted and Gibbs took that as a yes. The Metro detectives grabbed their things and walked to the elevator, Kelly leading the way with Washburn right behind. She threw the team a tight-lipped smile over her shoulder before following her partner into the elevator car.

Tony gave Tim a hearty pat on the back, startling the younger man. "See, McGee? Everything worked out just fine."

"I don't think having a psychotic woman running around and killing people could be defined as 'just fine,' Tony," Kate told him with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, but Probie's off the hook. Not that he was ever _on_ the hook, really, but now he's definitely off the hook."

"And who is on the hook?" Tim asked softly. He turned to look at Tony, though his eyes seemed to look through Tony, like he wasn't really seeing him. "Now I've passed the buck to someone else, someone who's a friend."

Kate reached out and gently took Tim's hand in hers. It wasn't often she showed such soft affection for her co-workers, so Tim knew he must have looked pretty pitiful to garner her sympathy.

"Tim, if he is the one doing this or if he's part of it at all, he needs to be caught."

She was right. He knew she was right.

"But I don't think he's part of it," he muttered.

"Then Metro will probably find that out when they investigate him.

Tim snorted. He knew that the people caught weren't always the guilty ones. Sometimes the innocent ones got swept away with the investigation. He almost had, after all. It was just luck that he'd been crossed off the suspect list.

"Even if he did do it," he said, "I'm probably the one who gave him the idea. I _am_ the one who called him about Dan. For all I know I opened a door of memories that had been locked since we graduated high school."

"Hey!" Gibbs snapped, punctuating it with a slap to the back of Tim's head. "Don't fall back into your self-loathing thing. Unless you gave him a gun and told him to go kill these guys I don't want to hear it. If you can't handle that I'll take you off this case now and let you catch up on some paperwork while we go after this psycho." With that, he stalked toward the stairs, no doubt to talk with Director Morrow about the current situation.

"This case?" Tim asked as he rubbed the back of his head. He looked curiously to Tony and Kate. "But I thought Metro was investigating."

Tony laughed and shook his head. "McGeek, if you think Gibbs is going to sit on the side and let Metro handle this then you obviously haven't paid much attention in all the time you've been on this team."


	18. Chapter 18

Abby had been treading on eggshells around Tim ever since his blow-up in her lab. They'd greeted each other in the morning and in the evening—actually, she had greeted him and he had just nodded, not even looking at her—but they hadn't talked. She missed being able to talk to him. It had only been a couple of days, of course, but for Abby that was akin to an eternity.

It had been her intention to let things cool off a bit before trying to fix it, but then she happened upon Tim sitting alone in the bullpen. The others had been sent off on their respective assignments, but Gibbs had given Tim strict instructions not to leave the building alone. Just because Metro couldn't tie him to dumping Fitcher's body didn't mean they wouldn't love to see him slip up.

She had just gone up to drop off a final report on Wickmar's clothing. Tim was sitting at his desk, just staring at his computer screen. He hadn't even noticed her.

Tentatively, she approached him. "Hey, Tim."

He looked up. Then back at the screen. "Hi, Abbs."

"How are you doing?"

"Things have been better."

She paused, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. "I'm really sorry."

Tim shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not your fault some crazy person is going around killing people."

"No, I mean about…" she trailed off abashedly. "Well…you know."

"Snooping?" he suggested, looking up at her. "You're sorry for going behind my back and snooping around in my personal life?"

She lowered her eyes but nodded. "Yeah…I am sorry."

There was a tense silence as Tim look at Abby in a mixture of anger and frustration and she looked down at her boots with guilt.

"Why'd you do it, Abby?" he asked finally. "I know we've had our ups and downs, but through it all I always felt like I could trust you."

"So why didn't you tell me what was bothering you?"

"Because, believe it or not, some people don't like for everyone to know their business," he said, not in a snide or angry tone; just matter-of-factly. "There are things in my life I don't want people to know; embarrassing things. Not that it matters now. Because of this case everyone knows I was tormented in high school."

Abby didn't tell him that most people had already figured that much out.

"I know I'm still the newbie here and I'm still going to get my share of teasing. I also know that I'm the team geek, that I'm not Tony or Kate or Gibbs. I never tried to pretend like I'd been some kind of stud in high school or anything, but I thought I could keep it mostly a secret so that no one would know how pathetic I'd been."

"Tim!" she chided. "You're not pathetic. What's pathetic is picking on someone just because they're different. Pathetic is beating up someone half your size just so you could feel strong. There are teens who don't even make it through high school just because of the bullying. Do you know how many kids just let it get to them and give up? But you didn't; you stuck it through and now look where you are."

"Alive?" he asked in a poor attempt at humor.

"That's not funny," she said with a frown. "You're a successful federal agent. You've got a family that loves you and friends who do too. I have a feeling a lot of your former bullies would love to have even half of what you have right now."

Tim was unconvinced, but he let it go. Sometimes there was no fighting Abby.

"That still doesn't excuse you," he told her.

She nodded in concession. "I know, McGee. I can't make it up to you, I know that, and I wouldn't blame you for hating me."

"Abby, I don't hate you. I'm just…miffed. And I'm not sure I can trust you again, not yet."

She wanted to plead her case, to tell him exactly why he should trust her again and why things should be exactly as they were before, as though she had never gone snooping to begin with, but she refrained. Abby recognized that some things were better fixed by doing nothing.

"Okay," she told him as she swallowed her pride, "I can accept that." A pause. "Do you think we'll ever be back where we were?"

"Maybe. I hope so," he said sincerely. "I just need time to deal with all of this."

"I can totally do that," she promised. "From now until you say so, I promise not to come within fifty feet of you. I mean, unless I have to."

For the first time in days Tim smiled. He was surprised his muscles even remembered how to do it. "You don't need to stay away from me, Abby. I just may not want to talk as much as we used to. I just need to finish this thing. I can't stand just sitting here while she's out there doing God only knows what."

Abby engulfed him in a hug. He had to admit it felt good to hug her again. "You'll find her," she promised. "What you need is some sleep."

"I don't need sleep," he protested, though he fought back a yawn as he did so.

She was having none of it. "You're not accomplishing anything by sitting here half-awake," she said as she took his hand. "Come down to my lab. You can sleep on my futon."

He was in no mood to argue, so Tim allowed himself to be led down to the lab, despite the fact that he hadn't totally forgiven Abby for her snooping. He let her settle him down on the futon, sticking Bert beneath his head a pillow substitute.

"Things are going to get better," she said as Tim closed his eyes. "I know they will, Tim." But even as she said the words, Abby couldn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Samuel Chase High School was situated in Maryland right outside of Bethesda. It was a moderately-sized public school with no fewer than twenty-five hundred students and almost a hundred staff and faculty members.

"So this is where McGee became a McGeek," Tony commented as he and Kate entered the building. They had arrived right after the bell rang, signaling the end of one period and the beginning of another (likely last period, as it was late into the afternoon), so they had to contend with a throng of teens rushing past to get to their next class.

The principal's office was located at the end of the building. When they arrived they were greeted by a receptionist. After flashing their badges, she stood to fetch the principal, a middle-aged woman by the name of Patricia Wagner. Her brown hair had begun to accumulate bits of salt and pepper shades and wrinkles were forming around her eyes and mouth, but she greeted them affably, though cautiously, and led them into her office.

"I can't say we've ever had NCIS drop by," she explained, obviously concerned by their presence. "Most we ever had was a policeman who came because he'd found a small plastic bag with marijuana on our grounds. Of course, we nipped that in the bud right away," she added, lest they should get the wrong impression about the school. "So what can I help you with?"

"I'm not sure if you are aware," Kate began, "but three of your former students are dead. Daniel Wickmar, Steve Ashcroft, and Ryan Fitcher."

Mrs. Wagner nodded sadly. "Yes, we were informed. We're hoping to hold some kind of memorial for them soon. It's a terrible thing. But why would that involve NCIS? As I understand, Daniel was the only one enlisted in the armed forces."

"That's true, ma'am, but we believe the cases to be connected."

"We're also interested in another student," Tony said, taking over from there. "Timothy McGee? We understand he was often bullied by the, uh, deceased."

She frowned. "That was back when I was only the vice-principal, but yes, I do recall a few incidents involving them. On a couple of occasions their parents had to be called in."

"The bullies' parents?" Kate asked.

"Timothy's parents as well. Principal Moore had them in to discuss it. Daniel's father claimed the boys were just being boys and most of the other parents agreed. They said Timothy was just making a big deal out of a few small pranks."

"Did McGee's…uh, I mean Tim's parents see it that way?" Tony asked.

"Not quite. They were adamant that something had to be done about this."

"What do you think?"

Mrs. Wagner was silent for a few moments and she avoided eye contact with both Tony and Kate. "As I said, I was only the vice-principal at the time…"

"But…" Tony prompted.

She sighed. "I was very concerned a few times when I saw Timothy. He sometimes had terrible black eyes or bruises. Even if he didn't, he always looked so sad and frightened. I remember we had a dance—it was our winter formal. He showed up, which was a surprise to me; Timothy had never come to the dances. I was pleased because I'd been the one to suggest it to him. I thought maybe if he put forth a bit more effort to be sociable things would get easier for him."

"I'm guessing they didn't get any easier," Kate commented.

"About two hours after the dance had started, Mr. Evans—one of our science teachers—heard something banging against the gym's back door. It led out to the pool. When he opened it, he found Timothy standing there wet and dressed in nothing but his underwear. No one knew how long he'd been out there, but he was shivering and looked almost blue."

We took him inside. Someone got blankets and threw them over him while someone else called his parents."

"Did he tell you what had happened?"

"He said he had just come out of the bathroom when some people grabbed him from behind and pulled him into the locker room. It was dark and he said he couldn't see very well, but they pulled all his clothes off, opened the door of the locker room which also led outside, and tossed him into the pool. Then they locked him out there."

"He didn't try to come around to the front?"

"The pool is enclosed by a gate. We did that because so many people would sneak in to go swimming. He tried to climb the gate, but he couldn't get a grip on it."

She gently massaged her brow. "Anyway, when we went looking inside the locker room later, we found his clothes folded neatly on one of the benches. He got dressed and waited in my office for his parents to come. He was out sick for the first half of the next week, though with what I don't know."

"So he didn't know who did it?" Tony concluded.

"He said it was those same boys—Daniel, Steven, and Ryan. He said he heard them."

Kate frowned in anger. "Were they punished?"

"Unfortunately, the boys denied having anything to do with it and their friends claimed they had never gone into the locker room. Timothy admitted it was dark, so we had no choice."

She grimaced. "I never forgave myself, though. I mean, for pushing him into going to that dance. I really thought things were going to get better for him; I guess I mostly hoped they would. After that night, though, I never pushed him to socialize again. I accepted that he preferred to spend his lunchtime reading instead of talking with friends. He was better off that way."

Kate couldn't help feeling a twinge of sympathy for the woman. Though her advice to Tim hadn't worked out, her heart had been in the right place. Still, she also couldn't get rid of the anger that had boiled up inside her stomach. The school hadn't so much dealt with the bullying problem as they had ignored it and hoped it would take care of itself. They'd let the bullies win and had let them have the run of the school.

"What about other students?" asked Tony. "Did anyone else complain about bullying?"

"Quite a few," Mrs. Wagner admitted. "But they seemed to make Timothy their main target. I think it's because he was so young and so smart."

"Can you give us the names of a few more students who may have held grudges against these guys?"

"I'm sure I could think of a few…" She stopped short and looked at them suspiciously. "You're not suggesting that one of them did this, are you?"

"It's a theory we're investigating."

"And you suspect Timothy?" Mrs. Wagner was aghast at the very idea. "He would never hurt a fly! I know he got frustrated—and with good reason—but I can't imagine him doing something so…so horrid!"

Tony held up a hand to stop her protests. "He's no longer on the suspect list. We only wanted a better idea of what kinds of things our victims did to their classmates while here."

Mrs. Wagner looked relieved, but still dubious. "I doubt you'll find your killer among any of our students," she said, "but I'll go back through our old files and have a list compiled for you. Where should I send it?"

"You can e-mail it to me," Kate said.

"I'll do that. And please keep me informed. If someone did…well, if this is somehow linked back to here, I'd like to know."

"We'll be sure to call you if we have a new development," Tony promised.

"Would it be wrong for me to say I feel less and less sorry for these guys the more we investigate?" Kate said in a huff as she and Tony walked back down the hallway.

Tony had seen her look of disgust as the principal recounted the incidents involving Tim and the three bullies. A similar feeling had overtaken him as well, but he'd swallowed it down. "They may not have been the nicest of guys," he conceded, "but even they didn't deserve to go that way."

"I guess," she said, "but I can understand why someone would want to hurt them."

"Well, the school's partly to blame. They're the ones who let them get away with it. Their parents, too. If either had made the effort to discipline the bullies they may have prevented a lot of pain. Think they've started to crack down on it now?"

Before Kate could respond, a high school student bolted out of the boys' bathroom and past them, his eyes lowered and his cheeks red. His head and shoulders were wet, as was the schoolbag slung against his back. As he walked by, they both caught a whiff of urine.

"Somehow I get the feeling they haven't."


	19. Chapter 19

Gibbs entered the bullpen, perplexed to see it empty. It was nearing the evening, but for them the day was still young. Tony and Kate, he knew, were on their way back to D.C. after visiting Tim's alma mater, but he'd left Tim here, giving him the menial task of checking through the phone and credit card records of their three victims, and had specifically instructed him not to leave the building.

"Where the hell did he go?" Gibbs mumbled under his breath. He wasn't expecting an answer, but he got one nonetheless.

"If you mean Timothy, I believe Abigail has brought him down to her lab to catch up on his sleep," Ducky said as he walked up behind Gibbs. "From what I've seen of the lad I think he needed it."

"Duck," Gibbs greeted. "He look that bad?"

"Not so much bad as plain tired. Tell me, did he sleep well last night?"

Gibbs didn't completely know the answer to that; he couldn't recall Tim sleeping _un_well. Both of them had been exhausted when they'd gotten in the previous night, Gibbs hadn't spent too much time tucking his probationary agent in.

"He didn't look great this morning when I woke him," Gibbs said, finally settling on a satisfactory response.

"Yes, well I imagine that even when he has managed to get to sleep, it has been light and brimming with nightmares."

"You're going somewhere with this."

"I am just wondering if it is in Timothy's best interest to have him working this case."

"McGee's young, Duck, but he's resilient. He's tougher than people give him credit for."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, Jethro, but even the strongest men have their breaking points. This case is difficult for him, not only because it is forcing him to relieve the anguish of his high school bullying, but because he is one of the few constants among these men. We know, of course, that he had nothing to do with these murders, but I believe he is still torturing himself to figure this out, to understand what he's missing."

"He is," Gibbs agreed, "but that's part of being a good investigator. Even if I were to take him off the case, he'd still be going through the same crap. Hell, I know I would if I were in his shoes. It's better just to keep him on the case, give him simple things to do so he can keep his mind occupied."

Ducky sighed, but he knew better than to argue the matter. No doubt if he were to broach the subject to Tim he would get a similar response; despite their vast differences, Tim and Gibbs were alike in their stubborn nature and their need to keep from seeming vulnerable.

"Very well, Jethro, but I do insist that you and your team keep an eye on the lad. It may just seem like a lack of sleep right now, but I sense something else bubbling about in that mind of his."

"Did you just come up here to lecture me or did you have something else to talk about?" Gibbs asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"Ah, yes. I received the Steven Ashcroft autopsy report from Metro. They claim they are still working on Mr. Fitcher's body and will get the report to me as soon as possible."

"Find anything interesting in the report?"

"Indeed. Their ME discovered something odd in the scratches along Ashcroft's back. He found it to be bits of fiberglass."

"So? He was being held somewhere with fiberglass?"

"Well, that was his theory, but I think it strange that little to no fiberglass was found anywhere else on his body, not even in his hair. As I was pondering this I got a call from mother. Well, not mother exactly, but the woman I've hired to watch her during the day. She told me that mother was refusing to eat the lunch she'd made and had lashed out, trying to scratch the poor woman. Mother can be very odd about her food, especially with new people, and-"

"Duck!" Gibbs bellowed, urging the man to get back to the point. "What has this got to do with Ashcroft or fiberglass?"

"Oh, well that phone call reminded me of mother's nails. You see, she would go at least one a month to get a manicure, complete with artificial nails. However, mother was allergic to the glues normally used to attach such nails, but there was an alternative option, one using fiberglass to elongate the nails."

Gibbs was more than dubious. "Fiberglass? On nails?"

"Never underestimate the lengths to which some women go for vanity. Anyway, I think this is a more reasonable explanation for why there would be bits of fiberglass in his cuts."

"That's all good and fine, Duck, but how does that help me?"

"Getting this done to one's nails is not something a person can simply buy a kit for and do at home. It is a procedure that requires a professional, and one that is not done at every beauty parlor. Perhaps someone at one of the parlors where the service is offered will remember your mystery woman. It's not much, I admit, but it's a start, isn't it?"

Gibbs nodded, though he wasn't bubbling with joy at this revelation. They didn't even have a decent fix on where their killer might live. "Yeah, thanks, Duck. How long has McGee been asleep?"

"Almost four hours," he said after consulting his watch.

"DiNozzo and Kate should be back soon. When they do, I'll go get him up." Seeing Ducky's disapproving look, Gibbs added, "We need him for the case." And that was the end of that discussion.

* * *

True to her word, Principal Wagner e-mailed Kate a moderately-sized list of students who may have held grudges against the three dead men. The inclusion of Chris Blanchard's name did not go unnoticed. She and Tony split the names between the two of them as Gibbs re-entered the squad room with a bleary-eyed Tim in tow.

"We're contacting the people on the list the school principal sent us," Tony explained as he cradled the ringing phone between his ear and shoulder.

Gibbs nodded to Tim's desk. "I want you searching surrounding areas for beauty parlors See which ones offer fake nails made of fiberglass"

"Beauty parlors?" Kate asked with a raised eyebrow. "Fiberglass nails?"

"A hunch from Ducky. When you're done with that, Tim, get back on the phone trail." Gibbs knew it was wholly unlikely that anything would be found in the men's phone records, but he didn't need Tim calling any of his former classmates. Who knew what sort of conflict of interest that might be? Not that he thought Tim would try to cover for a former friend, but he knew it was better simply to avoid any chance, especially with Metro breathing down their necks.

Tim fell into his seat and began typing as if on auto-pilot. He had been pulled from the comfort of his makeshift bed, not to mention the blissful ignorance that came with deep sleep. Now he had to open his eyes once more and face the grim reality before him. Normally doing his work, being a part of the team and working to bring down the bad guy, it all felt like something out of a movie or crime show; now it felt like each click of the keys was fruitless and that feeling caused him to slow down his pace to the bare minimum.

Gibbs sat behind his own desk, reviewing the case, bit by bit. Around him the team continued on in an almost perfectly orchestrated song:

"Hello, Miss Coleman? I'm Agent DiNozzo from NCIS. I'm calling because three of your former classmates were recently killed. Did you know a Daniel Wickmar, Steve Ashcroft, and Ryan Fitcher? Oh…wow, that's quite a mouth you've got on you…they're spineless piles of what?"

"Mr. Kruger? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Agent Todd calling from NCIS. Do you know how I can contact Mr. Kruger? In Asia for three years, you say? He hasn't been back in the US recently?"

"Eight beauty parlors within a thirty mile radius of where Wickmar's body was found. Two of them list the fiberglass nails among their services."

"Yes, I'm sure they were, Mrs. Lemoine, but I'm just asking if you'd seen them recently."

"Well, can you please have your son call me back when he gets in, Mrs. Marshall? No, have him call me first and log onto World of Warcraft second!"

"Ten within a thirty mile radius of where Ashcroft was found, but none of them offer the fiberglass nails."

"Mr. Dubner has passed on? A freak science accident? Ah, well that's too bad. No, ma'am, no more questions. Thank you."

"Miss, I know these men weren't the nicest, but I don't think it's in the best of tastes to let out whoops of joy upon finding out they're dead."

"Only three more parlors near where Fitcher was found, though they all have the service listed on their site."

Kate and Tony slammed down their phones almost simultaneously as they finished up their lists. "Four of the people no longer live in the state and one doesn't even live in this country," Kate said. "I talked to three others who claim not to have seen the men recently, and left a message for the last one with his mother."

"Tony?"

"One is dead, three have relocated, one is currently enlisted in the army and overseas, one hasn't seen them since high school, and I left messages for the rest."

"What about Chris?" Tim asked. He needn't fool himself into believing his high school friend wasn't on the list.

"Uh, he's a difficult one to find. He does freelance computer work now. His last steady job listed him as living in a Bethesda apartment, but when I called the apartment building, the landlord said he had moved out almost six months ago and left no forwarding address. His parents are both dead and his closest relative, an uncle in Wisconsin, says he hasn't talked to Blanchard in almost a year."

"Any idea where he's living these days, McGee?"

Tim shook his head. "I only have his cell number, but we haven't actually seen each other since high school. I asked him where he was living once, but he kind of avoided the question."

"Maybe there's a reason for that," Tony muttered under his breath.

"Give DiNozzo the number," Gibbs said.

Tim hesitated. "Um, actually, boss, do you think I could call him? He's more likely to answer if he sees it's me and if he is…well…if he does have something to tell us, I can probably get him to come down here more easily."

Gibbs considered the request and then nodded. "Okay, then call him."

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. It rang once. It rang twice. It rang three times…four times…five times. Then his voicemail picked up.

"Chris? It's Tim. Uh, give me a call back when you can. I've got something I need to talk over with you."

"Any chance you can use his cell number to get a more accurate fix on his location?" Kate asked once Tim had flipped closed his phone.

"It depends on his phone. If nothing else, though, I can check his call history and see which cell towers are used. If there's a pattern we can assume he probably lives in that area."

"Do it," Gibbs told him.

Tim pulled up the screen and entered Chris' number. Inside he was beginning to worry. Was his friend moving around so much because he was hiding something? Was he trying to keep from being found? If he was guilty of these horrible crimes he had to have known that suspicion would eventually fall on all of the people who had been bullied by the trio, including him. Why not get a head start on things and pull his disappearing act?

He shook his head. _Stop thinking that way. Chris hasn't done anything wrong. He was a victim, just like you. _This was all just a big understanding. They would locate Chris and he would have a solid alibi for everything. This…this psycho wasn't someone Tim knew. It was someone dark and twisted, someone Tim would never associate with.

"Boss…"

"Yeah, McGee?"

"All of his calls in the last few months have been made in Alexandria…only a few miles from where the bodies were found."


	20. Chapter 20

Chris Blanchard can't believe his luck. During a quick run to the grocery store, he had a run in with a fellow shopper, quite literally so. He had been browsing the produce section, not even looking at where he was going, when a woman had stepped out of the adjacent aisle and their carts collided. He, of course, had apologized profusely, blaming himself for the accident.

But the woman—a very attractive woman, he had to admire—just smiled and waived off the apology. She said she was just as much at fault as he was.

He'd expected their encounter to end there, with each of them going off their separate ways. Then she'd followed behind him, beginning a conversation with him about the price of broccoli. Chris could care less about the price of vegetables, but he wasn't about to turn down the chance to talk with a beautiful woman, so he joined in, mostly agreeing with everything she said.

When it had come time for them to check out, the woman—Angel, as she had introduced herself—had given him a small pout, saying it wasn't often she had the chance to talk with a nice, intelligent man, and would it be too forward for her to suggest they get together for coffee or something?

Too forward? Chris could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of a beautiful woman being interested in him, but he tried to put on a relaxed front lest he should appear too eager. Of course, he agreed, that would be wonderful. When was she free? That very afternoon, actually. Would she like to come to his place for a drink? She would love to.

Now, the two of them sit on the couch in his tiny apartment, each with a glass of white wine. Chris swirls his wine as he explains to Angel how to sample wine like a pro in an attempt to impress her; half of what he says consists of things he read in a Yahoo article and the other half is just stuff he made up. "You swirl it first to see the consistency and texture," he says. "Then you smell, then sip," he continues before doing just that.

"You're very intelligent," Angel replies, her eyelashes fluttering coyly. She swirls her own glass before lifting it, smelling it, and taking a quick sip. "Why smell it?"

Chris is still blushing from her compliment and is pleased to have a chance to show off even more. "Oh, it's because the scent of the wine can enhance how it tastes because those two senses are so closely related. When you smell the fruit of the wine, you can taste it better when you sip." He takes another swig of his wine and his eyes begin blinking rapidly. Is he growing tired?

"I'm so glad we ran into each other, Chris," she says, laying her hand over his. He can't help but notice how beautifully manicured her nails are. "I've spent so long trying to find a man like you. Most of the guys I've met lately have been boring and more interested in showing off their muscles than showing off their brains." She makes a face, indicating that she finds such behavior distasteful.

"Brain over brawn, I say."

She smiles and nods in agreement. "Those kinds of guys are just jerks. They were probably bullies in high school."

Chris winces, but manages to keep his expression pleasant. "Probably. I know most of my bullies were like that."

"Oh, you poor thing!" she coos. "I hope I'm not bringing up any bad memories."

"No…well, yes, there are some bad ones creeping up, but that was all a long time ago. I've grown up and I can only assume they have too."

Her free hand moves up and begins stroking his hair, twirling the short tresses between her forefinger and thumb. "Were you the only one bullied by them?"

"…uh…no," he replies almost breathlessly. Her gently caressing hand makes him lose his train of thought. Chris leans in closer to her, reveling in her touch. "I, uh, mean I was one of the ones they really went after, but there were a couple of others who got it worse. Like my friend, Tim. They really tore into him."

Her grip tightens for a moment, but relaxes in an instant. "Oh? What kinds of things did they do to him?"

"You know, the general bully stuff: noogies, swirlies, wedgies. Then there was the really bad stuff, like locking him outside in the cold at the school dance. Really, it was these three main guys who were the ringleaders of it all. Daniel, Steven, and Ryan." He sighs and sinks down into his seat. "Sad, isn't it? After all these years I can still remember their names. Bet they don't remember mine or Tim's, though."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that." He misses the sinister tone in her voice. "So did you ever do anything bad?"

"What do you mean? Like did I ever break the law or something?"

"I mean in high school. Did you ever hurt someone else?"

Chris looks down sheepishly. He swirls his wine and takes a long sip to avoid answering the question. But he knows he has to answer it. "Yeah…one time…"

* * *

It hadn't taken too long for the team to track down Chris' address. Once they had pinpointed a general area, a little digging and a few calls had given them the address for his apartment building.

Tim had spent the better part of the car ride calling Chris' cell phone over and over. He never got an answer, but it helped distract him from Gibbs' erratic driving.

"So Wickmar, Ashcroft and Fitcher were the main bullies, right?" Tony asked from the passenger seat. He caught Tim's gaze in the rearview mirror and saw him nod. "So maybe the killer is done?"

"Or maybe she's just getting warmed up," Kate muttered. "Anyway, we know there's a woman involved. What's her connection to Blanchard?"

Suddenly, Tony's eyes got wide. "What if Blanchard _is _the woman? You know, like that Voss guy from last year?"

"You mean the one you tongued?" Kate asked with a teasing grin.

Tony glowered. "I'm just saying it's a thought. I mean, what better way to hide out?"

Tim shook his head. "I doubt it. I knew Chris for four years and he never struck me as being a transsexual. Besides, if he was taking some kind of hormones his voice would probably change and I think I would have noticed that when I was talking to him a few weeks ago."

"Maybe she's a girlfriend?" Kate suggested.

"Nah, if he's as big a geek as McGee there's no way a hot chick like that would be interested."

Tim ignored the jab. "But why else help him? I mean, assuming he's the one behind this, which I don't think he is. What does she have to gain from all of this?"

"Maybe she gets off on torturing and killing people and he's helping her get aroused," Tony said.

"Or maybe she's just a psycho," Gibbs added as he made a sharp turn and pulled into the apartment building's parking lot. The car screeched to a halt, causing the occupants to shoot forward slightly, saved only by their tightly fastened seatbelts. "McGee, no luck reaching him?"

"I called twelve times," he said glumly, "but he never answered."

"Guess we'll have to do this the hard way," Gibbs muttered as he clicked his seatbelt off.

"His car is here," Kate observed as the team exited the Sedan.

"Everybody ready?" He directed the question to the team, but they all knew he was talking specifically to Tim.

"Ready, boss," the youngest agent replied with only a slight tremor in his voice.

"Let's go. McGee, you and I will take the front door. Tony and Kate, I want you blocking off the exits just in case. That includes any fire escapes. Got it?"

"Got it," both Tony and Kate echoed before running off to their respective posts. Tony ran to the back of the building while Kate stationed herself near the front.

Gibbs clapped Tim on the back. "Ready?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I mean, this is all nothing. I'm sure Chris had nothing to do with this."

"Whatever you say," Gibbs replied, obviously unconvinced.

The two entered the building with their badges brandished before the security guard could put down his porno magazine and ask to see them. They opted for the stairs and soon stepped on to a very quiet, very empty third floor. Chris' apartment was at the end of the hallway and they tread silently as they made their way over there. When they reached the door, Gibbs gave Tim one more look, ascertaining that he was ready for whatever they found.

Tim nodded and knocked gently. "Chris?" he asked. "It's me…uh, Tim…McGee. You know…from high school?"

There was only silence.

He knocked again. "Chris? Are you there?"

No response.

Tim stepped back and watched as Gibbs kicked in the door. The older man entered and Tim trailed behind. Both of them had their guns drawn.

The living area-cum-kitchen was empty. Gibbs nodded his head to the hallway and Tim followed obediently. There were only three other doors. One was open, revealing a tiny bathroom. The other was clearly marked as "Storage closet." The third door was closed. Gibbs stepped back and nodded toward it, signaling Tim to open it.

He reached out and grasped the knob lightly. His heart was pounding and he slowly counted to five. Then, in one swift motion, he threw open the door and stepped into the doorway, gun drawn and raised.

Tim's breath got caught in his throat. "Boss…" he rasped.

Gibbs peeked in over Tim's shoulder and felt his own stomach sink.

Chris Blanchard was lying naked on his bed. He was face down and there was a knife sticking in his back.


	21. Chapter 21

"If it's of any consolation to you, Timothy, based on the blood from the wound, or lack thereof, Mr. Blanchard was dead or at least very close to dead when the knife was plunged into him and the brand was pressed against his skin."

"Dead?" Kate asked. "From what?"

"Well, my autopsy is not complete, but I found traces of sedatives in his stomach and digestive system. They were the same ones used on our other victims. I'm sure Abigail will find similar traces on the wine glass."

After finding Chris' body, Gibbs and Tim had searched the rest of the apartment. There was no blue-haired woman to be found—or anyone to be found, for that matter—but on the night stand they found two empty wine glasses. One had a lipstick stain around the rim.

"He was drugged?" Gibbs asked as he looked down at the still figure of Chris Blanchard.

"Heavily, it would seem."

"Makes sense," Tony said. "This guy may not have hit the gym too often, but even he would be able to overpower our mystery woman if she tried to go after him."

Tim had remained silent up to this point. Even when Gibbs had barked out orders to him, even when Kate and Tony had gone up to the apartment to help survey the crime scene, and even when Detective Kelly had shown up with his partner and had chewed out the team for continuing the investigation despite being told not to, Tim had just stood by without saying a word. A person might have mistaken him for a statue if he hadn't been breathing so heavily.

Dan and Steve and Ryan…their deaths had hit him hard, of course, but they had been bullies, tormentors. If he was being brutally honest with himself, Tim had felt the teensiest bit of relief when he heard about their deaths.

Chris, though, was different. Chris had been a friend, an ally, someone who understood what he was going through and who had gone through it as well. Chris was someone he'd spoken to only weeks before. Now he was lying on the autopsy table, his body sliced open and his internal organs removed.

This wasn't how he wanted to remember his friend.

"I told you he had nothing to do with it," Tim said in a strained tone. He didn't even notice his teammates exchange dubious looks.

Tony cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well…uh…I don't think we can really absolve him from any involvement, McGee. His accomplice may have seen him as a loose end and killed him to keep him from blabbing."

"From what we can tell, they did have a glass of wine together," Kate added in agreement. "I think your friend was taken in by this woman, whoever she is. He was vulnerable and she came to him with a proposition. My guess is she was looking for a thrill and he was more than happy to provide her with names of possible victims. When she got bored with him, she cut loose."

"No," Tim said angrily. "No, that's not it! Chris…he wasn't like that! You didn't know him, though, you only know what you've heard about him." Kate opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. "And so what if they shared a glass of wine? Chris was my friend, but I know he wasn't great with women. So if an attractive woman chatted him up, sure, he'd go along with it. He wouldn't think anything of it. He'd have no reason to think she'd be trying to kill him."

"Yeah, well I can't think of any other reason for her to kill him either, McGee," Gibbs said. His tone wasn't angry or harsh, but it was firm. "So far our victims have been bullies. Why would this woman kill someone who was just a target in high school?"

"I don't know!" Tim bellowed. It caused everyone to jump, including Gibbs. They weren't used to hearing Tim shout or yell or raise his voice at all. "You said yourself this woman's a psycho! Maybe she just killed him for the thrill of it! But I know my friend. He wasn't like this. And if you think otherwise, that's your problem."

Tim turned and stormed out, leaving the rest of the team speechless.

"Wow…I don't think I've ever seen Probie so…"

"Pissed?" Kate supplied in a low tone.

"Yes, well I wouldn't read too much into it," Ducky said. "Timothy is obviously under a lot of stress, and his lack of sleep isn't helping, I'm sure. But I can't say I completely disagree with him."

"Ah, come on, Duck," Gibbs said with a sigh. "It's not part of the killer's M.O."

"Not as far as we know. But take a look at our victims. First, we have Cpl. Wickmar, who was drowned in what appears to have been a toilet. I believe Anthony even compared it to a swirlie, correct? Then we have Mr. Ashcroft, who was practically scalped when our killer took a peeler to his head. A bit reminiscent of noogies, I believe? After that was Mr. Fitcher who, in the words of our Metro friend, was sodomized by a knife, which I believe was supposed to recreate the pain of getting a wedgie. And finally we come to Mr. Blanchard. Unlike the others, he experienced no torture prior to his death. It also seems as though our murderer tried to make it less painful than the other deaths."

"A knife in the back," Kate commented as she looked down at Chris' body. "If it's following the same idea, it would indicate that at some point our killer feels Blanchard betrayed someone."

"Maybe a friend and fellow victim of bullying," Tony added. "We should ask McGee about it."

"No," Gibbs said. He reached out a hand to stop Tony in his tracks.

"Boss, with all due respect, I think catching this girl is more important than McGee having to go through some bad memories."

"That's not what I meant, DiNozzo. I'll talk to him."

Tony opened his mouth in protest. "But-"

"Have you heard back from anyone you left messages for?"

Both Tony and Kate exchanged uncomfortable looks. "Uh, my guy called back and said he's spent the last few nights playing World of Warcraft and there are plenty of people who can support that alibi," Kate said.

"Two of mine called back and they both have alibis," Tony said. "One still hasn't called, but his wife insisted he's been on a business trip this week. The fourth still hasn't called."

"Get on it. And Kate, I want you to pick up where McGee left off on the beauty parlors. Visit them and ask if they can remember any customers getting the fiberglass nails recently. Get their security tapes if they have them. Right now that's our best lead." Gibbs didn't wait for the "Yes, boss," response that had become almost automatic for them; he turned and stalked out in search of Tim.

* * *

Tim hadn't known exactly where he was going when he stepped into the elevator. Without looking, he'd jabbed one of the buttons, not even caring where it took him. When the doors opened, he stepped off into the squad room. But he didn't want to go to his desk and sit there, waiting for the orders to be shouted out at him. He turned in the other direction and headed to the bathroom. It was empty.

Tim turned on the water and cupped his hands beneath the stream. He leaned down and splashed it against his face. It cooled him down a bit, but it didn't completely help. His heart and mind were still racing.

Chris had been his closest friend in high school, maybe his only friend for that matter. They went their separate ways, but Tim had always been certain that if he needed him, Chris would be there for him. To run into that apartment and find his friend that way…

"McGee."

He jumped. Gibbs had suddenly appeared behind him. Tim had been so engrossed in thought he hadn't even heard the door open. "Boss," he replied levelly before leaning back down for another splash against the face.

Gibbs stepped further into the bathroom and leaned against the counter beside Tim as the other man hit his face with another splash of water. "That was quite a storm-out."

"Are you expecting me to apologize?"

"No."

The door opened and one of the other NCIS employees walked in. Gibbs shot him a look and the man stopped in his tracks before contritely retreating back out.

"I know what you guys think. I'd probably think it too. But Chris didn't do it. Accusing him of any involvement would be like accusing me."

"Okay," Gibbs said with a slow nod. "So let's assume he wasn't involved with the first three murders. Why would he be one of her victims?"

Tim looked away and his cheeks began to flush. "I don't know."

Gibbs studied him for a few seconds. The way his face grew red. The way his eyes stared into the mirror, studying his own reflection. The way his hands tapped nervously against the counter. It wasn't because his high school friend might be labeled a murderer. Something else had Tim's mind occupied. "You do know, McGee."

"No…" he started to protest feebly.

"He had a knife sticking in his back. Someone was trying to send a message, Tim."

Tim leaned down so that his head was resting on the top of the counter. He'd noticed the pattern in the first three, but had assumed it to be nothing. It was no secret this killer was targeting bullies, so why be bothered if the modes of murder were reminiscent of forms of hazing?

But a victim who was stabbed in the back? Tim couldn't hide from it any longer.

"Chris was a year ahead of me and had been moved up a grade too. He'd already been through all of the bullying before I'd gotten there. I was an even better target for them, though, because I'd moved up two grades. I-I guess Chris saw a chance to get on their good side."

"What'd he do to you?"

"Well, nothing directly. I went to the school winter formal. I didn't want to, but my parents and teachers were all so worried about me, so I only went to get them off my back. They said I'd probably like it more than I thought." The snort that accompanied that comment led Gibbs to believe the dance did not end well for Tim.

"Chris knew I was going and he suggested to Dan, Steve, and Ryan that they try something there. They went with the idea. When I came out of the bathroom, they pulled me into the boys' locker room, yanked off my clothes, and tossed me outside into the pool."

"And what part did your so-called friend play in this?"

"He watched for teachers while they did it. Then, when I accused the guys of doing it, he spoke up in their defense, claiming they hadn't been anywhere near the locker room when it happened."

Gibbs let out a small, humorless chuckle in spite of himself. "So how the hell did you two become friends?"

"Well, the plan didn't exactly work for Chris. It earned him a weeklong reprieve at the most, but then he was right back where he'd started. That's when he figured it was better to keep his allies close rather than sacrifice them for a little bit of amnesty. So he apologized to me, admitting that he'd helped them. He even offered to go to the principal about it, but I figured there was no point. What was done was done."

"And you just forgave him?"

Tim shrugged. "It took a while for me to trust him again, but I needed every friend I could get. Besides, I can understand why he'd do it, though I'm ashamed to admit that. It's like getting your sibling in trouble with your parents for something really bad so they don't yell at you for something you've done. High school can be a dog eat dog world sometimes."

Gibbs frowned as he digested this new information. The first three victims had had ties to the school, but not to one particular student. If what Tim was telling him was true, though, Chris' murder narrowed it down to him and just him.

"No one else who might feel they were stabbed in the back by him?"

"None that I know." Tim finally looked Gibbs straight in the eyes. "I get it, boss, I do. I'm not going after these people, but whoever is seems to be doing it for my benefit."

Gibbs grabbed a paper towel and handed it to Tim. After he'd dried his face, Gibbs clapped him on the shoulder and led him out. "You're going to have to think long and hard, McGee."

"Think about what?"

"About who might want to protect you this way and who they might go after next."


	22. Chapter 22

She sits in her car, lying in wait of her next victim. It's quite boring, she finds, but she doesn't want to turn the car on just for the radio. Someone might see that. Instead, she entertains herself with thoughts of him.

She is embarrassed because she hasn't had much time to see him lately, but that's because she's been pouring most of her energy into this, into seeing that those who tormented him in the past get their comeuppance. Certainly that is worth missing a few moments of watching him.

Chris Blanchard. She frowns as that name enters her mind and she grips the steering wheel tightly. He may have called himself a friend to Tim, but he, odd as it may sound, infuriates her more than any of the others. He pretended to be a friend, to be an ally. He was someone who had gone through the same tortures Tim had, and yet he had been a traitorous Judas. It doesn't matter that he'd made amends; that one act of betrayal was enough to convince her that he deserved to die just like the others. The only reason she hadn't torture him and had instead killed him off in a much more peaceful way was that she knew Tim thought of him as a friend. For him and him alone, she had resisted the urge to put him through the proverbial wringer.

_But, oh, what I could have happily done to him_, she thinks with a mixture of bitterness and thrill. Her bag of tricks still isn't empty. There are still body parts to slice, bones to break, tools to use. She has only just skimmed the top of the possibilities. Just thinking about what she may do next is enough to make a pleasurable moan resonate in the back of her throat.

She once read a book about torture techniques from medieval times all the way up through the ones government agencies use at the present. Pictures of devices utilized to inflict the maximum amount of pain on a human body while still prolonging death for as long as possible, details of the most gruesome killings…it was enough to get her heart racing.

Has he had the same reaction each time he's found her gift to him? Does his heart start to race as well? Does he know it's all for him?

That she doesn't know. But she is certain of one thing: when the time comes for her to reveal herself to him, he will finally understand how much she loves him. He'll have no choice but to love her back.

She looks down at the clock. It's getting late, but she knows she can't make her attempt too soon; she must be patient. And if there is one virtue she _does_ hold, it's patience.

She unconsciously begins tapping her fingernails against the steering wheel, beating out a foreign rhythm. It's been a nervous habit of hers for as long as she can remember. Troy used to get annoyed by it, especially during a game. After a while she started doing it just to bother him. _Though now that I think about it, I could probably use another nail treatment_. She looks at her poor nails, worn from her handy-work. She will likely work late tonight, but if she is not too tired tomorrow, perhaps she can go to the salon for another manicure. She'll want her nails in perfect shape when Tim sees her.

The front door of the house opens and she sees her next target step out onto the porch with two others. The trio says their good-byes and the other two walk to their car, pull out, and drive down the dark street, leaving her target all alone.

The lights in the house go out. It is still and dark. She smiles.


	23. Chapter 23

At Gibbs' insistence, Tim once again stayed at his place that night. "But, boss," he protested as Gibbs pulled out of the Navy Yard, "Metro said themselves that I'm not a suspect anymore."

"I don't give a crap about Metro, McGee. I'm more concerned about your wellbeing."

Tim almost laughed, but he had a feeling that would be an inappropriate response. "I don't know that I'm the one whose wellbeing should concern you."

Once the undeniable connection had been made, Tim had spent the rest of the work day thinking back to his high school days. The bullies. The victims. Everyone. "I just can't figure it out," he'd muttered, mostly for his own benefit. And he couldn't. The three first victims had been the bully ringleaders. Chris had been a friend who had made a mistake. The torments of his bullies were something everyone in the school had seen, but who could have possibly known about what Chris had done to him? He'd never told anyone and he was almost certain Chris hadn't. It had been the little secret between them and the bullies.

Tony, when not trying to reach the last person on Principal Wagner's list of victims, had contacted the list of bullies that Tim had provided, making sure they were all safe and accounted for and advising them to be cautious and make sure they locked their homes tightly. By the time he left, every one of them had been contacted and warned, but he still hadn't reached the last bully victim.

Kate's trips to the beauty parlors had to be postponed as most of them had already closed for the day. She had, however, left each one a message to call her the next day.

At that point there was little else they could do. Ducky was still working on Chris' autopsy and Abby was processing the fingerprints, blood samples, and items collected from the crime scene. The team could only hope one of them would strike gold. And did they ever need to strike gold. They'd managed to get the upper hand on Metro, earning them the first crack at the body and evidence, but Director Morrow would only be able to keep the yapping Metro hounds at bay. NCIS needed something and they needed it soon.

Gibbs pulled onto the freeway and merged quickly, almost colliding with an SUV in the process. "This is someone who knows you, Tim," Gibbs said as the driver of the SUV honked angrily. "This is someone who has probably been watching you for quite some time. This person is trying to protect you, to avenge you, for whatever reason. It's like…"

"An obsession," Tim supplied glumly. The thought had crossed his mind many times that day. Someone obviously thought she—and by this point they had no reason to believe the killer wasn't a she—was doing him a favor and that he would repay her for these "good deeds." What if this killer managed to get into his apartment? What would she want from him? Worse, how would she react if she didn't get what she wanted?

"Exactly," Gibbs said. "A person like that isn't going to give up until she gets what she wants, and from the sound of it she wants something from you. If she's finished her spree, you'll be the next visit on her list. It's better that you not be alone tonight."

When it was put that way, Tim couldn't disagree. He began to wonder how much this woman knew about him. Had she followed him? Had she spied on him in his apartment? How had he not realized he was being stalked like that? Tim groaned internally. No doubt everyone else on the team would have recognized that they were being watched; leave it to him to be the oblivious one. "I feel so stupid."

"Why?"

"For not realizing this sooner."

"She only just started killing people, McGee. What was there to realize?"

"Well, it's pretty clear that this isn't something that happened overnight. It's something she's been planning for a while. If she's really been watching me like that, I should have known."

"Some people are good at hiding in plain sight. Can't blame yourself for not seeing it when you had no reason to look for it."

That made sense, but it didn't help Tim rid his conscience and mind of guilt and self-berating. He was an investigator; it was his job to be aware. Maybe if he'd figured it out sooner, four innocent lives could have been spared.

_Not so innocent_, his brain cynically reminded.

_Yes, innocent_, he argued back. _No matter what happened in high school, these men didn't do anything to warrant that kind of death_.

_And what exactly did you do to warrant the kind of torment they put you through?_

Tim stopped the mental tug-of-war between the proverbial angel and devil on his shoulders. All it did was depress him further.

Gibbs noticed the sudden silence. He normally would have enjoyed it, but in this case it only suffocated him. Tim was a good guy and he didn't deserve to go through all of this, especially not when he himself had been the victim in the first place. "So tell me about Vicki Frankel," he said, trying distract Tim from his own self-doubt.

Vicki was the only one of Tim's fellow bully victims the team had yet to contact, so she was steadily making her way up the list of suspects. A math and science whiz throughout high school, Frankel had been accepted into Harvard where she'd majored in engineering physics. She'd worked for a car company, designing and testing automobile safety features, for three years, but had been let go five months prior.

"Vicki was really quiet," Tim recalled. The petite girl had been a year behind him and was the kind of person who tried to blend in with her surroundings. With coke-bottle glasses, braces, frizzy hair, and a brilliant mind, that was easier said than done "I mean, we were all quiet, but she was _really_ quiet. I don't think I ever heard her speak."

"What sorts of things did these guys do to her?"

"Called her names, 'accidentally' spilled food on during lunch, stole her books, that kind of stuff. She had these really thick glasses—she was practically blind without them—and one of the guys broke them during P.E. He claimed it was an accident, but we all know it wasn't. But the worst I remember was when they stole her clothes while she was showering after gym. She had to go to the principal's office wrapped in a towel and call her parents to bring her more. The next morning, when we got to school, her clothes were hanging from the flagpole."

"They give a reason for doing it?"

"I guess they just didn't like her. They didn't really need more of a reason than that."

"Point taken." Gibbs changed lanes sharply to take the next exit. "So did this girl ever show any interest in you?"

Tim shook his head. "We never really talked or anything. We kept to ourselves and counted down the days until graduation, just like the others."

"You guys never thought to align yourselves, maybe fight back with numbers since the school wasn't doing anything?"

"We didn't want to start anything or make it worse. Even if we outnumbered them, we knew they'd win. It was easier to just keep your head low, not make too many waves." He rested his head against the side window and his body shook with a soft, pathetic laugh. "I think we all convinced ourselves they wouldn't notice us if we stayed quiet. Stupid, I know, but at least it gave us something to hope for."

"She ever strike you as the type to seek revenge?"

"Hard to tell," he said honestly. "I never heard her mention it. But why now?" he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. "Why after all these years? And why focus on me?"

"Maybe she was more interested in you than you realized."

"I think I'd recognize if someone liked me," Tim said with a sour tone. "It's not like I was ever hounded for dates."

"Not all secret admirers are so obvious about it, McGee. That's why they're called secret admirers."

Tim still wasn't convinced. "I don't know, boss. Something about this whole thing just feels hinky. The woman in the video didn't look anything like how I remember Vicki. I mean, I know people change…"

"She was wearing a blue wig and large sunglasses, McGee. She could have been Madonna for all we know. From the physical description you've given us of Frankel, it sounds like she could be our mystery woman."

But there was more than just a physical discrepancy that felt off about the situation. Something was nagging at Tim's psyche, bouncing back and forth in his mind like a ping pong ball. Every time he thought he had it, the thought would bounce back and he'd lose it again. There was specifically something Gibbs had said that had piqued his interest, but for the life of him he couldn't think what it could be. He mentally replayed their conversation over and over during the rest of the ride, but nothing stuck.

Gibbs pulled into his driveway and they exited the car. It was dark and a soft chill had fallen upon the city, but Tim felt an even colder feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, he was grateful to be staying at Gibbs' house that night.

* * *

She sits on the bed, waiting for him to come to. It was a cinch getting into the house. One doesn't work with welding and metalwork without knowing a thing or two about locks. Once she was in the house, she'd crept up the stairs carefully. A single creak could alert her prey, giving him time to lock the door or call for the police.

But luck was on her side that night as she ascended the stairs with the grace and light-footedness of a cat.

At the top floor were four doors. Two of them were open, revealing a bathroom and an empty bedroom. She'd gently pressed her ear against the first closed door. Silence for a few moments…and then a loud, resonating snore. She'd nudged open the door and entered, her soon-to-be victim still sound asleep. She's approached the bed with the chloroform-soaked rag clutched in her hand. It looked like he had been about to open his eyes when she'd pressed the rag to his mouth and nose, holding it tightly in place until his body went limp.

This one, she had known, was going to be the most difficult to pull off. This was a man who rarely left his house. He was a widower with two children who visited him once a week. Most of his days were spent in front of his television, and his nights were very much the same. There would have been no way of dragging him out of his house and into her car, especially not in this neighborhood. It struck her as being the Neighborhood Watch kind of place. She couldn't risk having anyone see her, not even at this time of night.

She'd bound his hands above his head, tying the rope off at the headboard. Then she'd wrapped a long strip of duct tape over his mouth to gag him. She'd have preferred hearing him scream and beg for mercy—mercy she would never give him, of course, until she finally ended his miserably life—but she couldn't risk someone hearing him. It was a shame, but at least she'd be able to watch him writhe in pain.

There's a soft, muffled moan and she sees that his eyes are beginning to open. She stands and grabs her bag, rummaging through her array of toys. Which one does she go with first? She opts for the serrated knife. Holding it in her hand, she carefully presses the tip of the blade against her forefinger and twists it, watching the light from the lamp glint against the metal, still stained with blood from her previous victims.

His eyes open. He blinks a few times as his eyes adjust to the light. Then he catches sight of the knife, glimmering in the light.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asks with no trace of sarcasm or bitterness in her voice. She is enraptured in the sight of the tool. A tool that can cause so much pain and damage. "It's one of my favorites."

He tries to move. When that fails, he attempts to say something, but finds his words silenced by the tape over his mouth. His eyes flitter about nervously as he tries to make sense of all this. Who is this woman? What could she possibly want with him? More importantly, what is she planning to do with him?

She lets out a small grunt of pain as the blade slices through her skin. Not a deep cut, but it draws blood. She watches with a strange fascination as the sticky liquid oozes from the wound and trickles down along the crevices of her finger. The small stream sinks into the hollow area between her forefinger and thumb before continuing down the palm of her hand and dropping onto the carpet, decorating it with tiny red polka dots.

"Well, let's get on with it," she says, no longer interested. She suckles on her finger in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Don't want to keep you waiting too long."

As she approaches, he tries in vain to shy away. It thrills her to watch him struggle against the ropes. "Don't worry, Mr. Moore. Just settle into bed and get comfortable. It's going to be a long night."

* * *

Tim once again settled in on Gibbs' couch for the night and once again Gibbs didn't argue the matter. "Want a beer or a nightcap?" he asked as Tim began setting up the couch. "Always helps me sleep."

"Ah, no thanks, boss." Tim didn't have a taste for beer and he imagined Gibbs' idea of a nightcap was a coffee mug full of bourbon. Besides, it was far too late to imbibe. "I sleep better without alcohol."

"Suit yourself," Gibbs said as he poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels. "If you change your mind, you know where it is."

Tim sat on the couch and leaned back, hands wringing as they sat in his lap. "Boss," he began hesitantly, "something feels off."

"What do you mean?"

"Something about this case feels weird."

"Just one thing? The whole thing is weird."

"I feel like there's something important for me to think about…but I can't remember it. Ever feel like that?" he asked, looking up at Gibbs.

It struck Gibbs then how young Tim was, how young he looked sitting there in his MIT T-Shirt and boxers. A round face with bits of baby fat still clinging to it, green eyes that were as large as they were expressive, a mouth that seemed to be in a perpetual pout, and a stuttering that often crept into his speech, Tim sometimes looked more like a teenager than an adult.

His demeanor was also very green in many ways, especially in comparison to the rest of the team. That was no surprise, of course. Gibbs had been a Marine sniper, Tony a cop for years before joining NCIS, and Kate a member of the Secret Service. Tim, though, was a man barely out of FLETC who had spent the better part of his adult life in college studying computers and science and math, things that may come in handy when investigating, but meant nothing when it came to the grit of the job. He understood the academic and intellectual side of the job, but still hadn't quite grasped the danger and action part of it. To have to face it now and all at once would be overwhelming on anyone. Timothy McGee was a young man racked with worry, guilt, and confusion and Gibbs knew he couldn't do much to ease that right now.

"Yeah, McGee…sometimes I do. Just try and get some sleep. That might help you remember."

Tim nodded. "Okay, boss…and thanks."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Just for everything."

Gibbs let a small smile escape. "No problem," he said before mounting the stairs and leaving Tim alone on the couch.

Tim sighed and lay down along the couch. It was a tight fit with his tall frame, but not uncomfortable. He switched off the lamp, pulled the blanket over himself and pressed his head down into the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he saw was Chris. No matter how hard he tried to think of something else, anything else, his mind kept returning to that moment he'd thrown open the door and seen his friend's body like that.

His mind then morphed into the image of their mystery woman, what little they had seen of her. Did she know he was here? Was she watching him right now? His body shot up in the dark and he quickly snapped on the lamp. His heart was pumping as he looked out the window, his eyes straining to see if there was anyone out there looking in.

Gibbs, in a very out-of-character moment, had locked the door once they'd come into the house, claiming he wasn't in the mood for uninvited guests that night. Tim liked to think he'd hear someone if they tried to pick the lock, but he couldn't be certain. What if she got in somehow? What if she was already in the house?

_Stop that!_ he scolded himself. _You're getting yourself all worked up over nothing. Next you'll be checking for monsters in the closet_. He couldn't help feeling that this woman was far worse than any monster he'd ever dreamed up in his childhood, and not just because she was a real person.

With a groan, Tim kicked off the blanket and headed into the kitchen. The Jack was sitting on the counter and with a little searching he located a small glass in one of the cupboards. He filled the glass with ice and poured the bourbon until it was half-full. He'd never had straight bourbon or any straight liquor, though he knew his father had a taste for the stuff.

Glass in hand, he returned to the couch, sat down, and took a tentative sip. Not bad. He had to admit it had calmed the jitters a bit. He took another sip, this one longer. Within minutes, the liquor was gone, leaving only a glass of ice. His apprehensions still weren't gone, but he was calmer, enough to actually get some sleep.

As he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, his brain kept replaying his conversation with Gibbs during the drive.

"_You guys never thought to align yourselves, maybe fight back with numbers since the school wasn't doing anything?"_

"The school…" Tim muttered thoughtfully. His eyes fluttered open and his breath caught in his throat. The school. The teachers and faculty and the principal. So far the victims had all been former students, but what would stop the killer from moving on to the adults? They may not have directly contributed to his torment, but they certainly hadn't done much to stop it. Didn't that make them just culpable, at least in the eyes of this killer?

With a curse muttered under his breath, Tim jumped off the couch with a newfound energy boosted entirely by fear. "Boss!"


	24. Chapter 24

He'll be here. She knows he will be. Initially, she went to his apartment once she'd finished up. Imagine her surprise when she found it dark and empty. Where could he be? Still at work, perhaps? She could just imagine him and his coworkers studying her most recent handiwork.

Frustrated, she decided to head back to the neighborhood of former Principal Moore, knowing that his team would have to be there sooner or later. Though, how long might it take to discover the body? A man living alone wasn't likely to be missed immediately. Would it take too long for Tim to see his next gift from her?

When her car pulled up, she saw that she needn't have worried. A car bearing the Metro emblem was sitting in the driveway along with an M.E.'s van. The front door was open and people from neighboring houses were already coming out to see what all the fuss was about.

So she sits in the car, waiting for him to arrive. It's too early to call the salon for a nail appointment, so she pulls out a book to pass the time.

The body is carted out in a body bag. She almost feels bad. The old man probably wasn't long for this world anyway. He hadn't really been the aggressor, the main cause of Tim's pain. He'd just been the coward, the man too afraid of confrontation to even attempt to maintain some form of proper decorum within the halls of his high school.

Her lips curl in disgust, any sympathy she may have had for that split second gone so quickly. No, he was just as deserving as the others. He'd had the power to put a stop to it all, but hadn't. He was as guilty as they were. She had felt a certain weight lift from her shoulders when she'd snapped his pathetic little neck. It was a little trick Troy had shown her in one of his many attempts to show off his masculinity to her. Who would have guessed something that dolt knew would ever some in handy?

Suddenly, she spies a white truck making its way down the street. The various spectators who have come by to catch a peek clear a path for the vehicle and it pulls up alongside the house. "NCIS" is emblazoned across the side.

She smiles. He's here.

* * *

Tim was grateful that the body had been taken away before they arrived. He didn't think he could bear seeing it. Metro's description of the state the body had been in was more than enough for him. From what he'd heard among the forensics specialists there, the man's neck had been broken and his head had been turned clean around. And that didn't even begin to cover the various cuts and wounds that had decorated his body.

"And remind me why we should even let you take a look at the crime scene," Detective Kelly said snidely as he and Gibbs conferred in the doorway of the bedroom. Once Tim had voiced his new concerns to Gibbs, NCIS had immediately notified Metro to avoid any further friction with the law enforcement agency. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you guys are still holding our evidence and our body from the last one."

"This is our case as much as yours," Gibbs replied in a calm tone—calm for him, at least. Inside he was seething and had no patience for some pigheaded Metro cop.

"One Marine among the five victims? Not exactly NCIS territory."

"And a connection to one of my men," he countered. "As I recall, Agent McGee cooperated with you, now I expect you to do the same."

As the two men engaged in a proverbial pissing match, Tim, Kate, and Tony remained in the living area, watching as Metro employees dusted for prints, searched for hair fibers, and loaded up items into their van. Detective Washburn entered and, upon catching sight of the NCIS trio, shot them a sympathetic grin.

"She's a slippery one," Washburn commented as she made her way past them and ascended the stairs.

Tim frowned and leaned back against the wall. "I can't believe I didn't think about this."

"None of us did, McGee," Kate reminded him. "We were so focused on the students we forgot about the staff."

"But _I_ shouldn't have," he argued. "This…you guys don't get it. There's someone out there with a hit list based on my life! I'm the one who needs to be one step ahead of this psycho! If I can't even remember the simplest things about high school, who knows how many more people are going to be killed?"

"Probie!" Tony bellowed with a quick smack to Tim's head. "Snap out of it. You're starting to sound hysterical."

Tim glowered at him. "Tony—"

"Look, why don't you make yourself useful. Go out to the truck and reorganize the drawers. I heard some spills on the way over here."

Kate watched with anger and shock as Tim, eyes downcast, shuffled out of the house without a word. "Tony!" she hissed, grabbing the man's arm and pulling him into the kitchen area. "What the hell are you doing? McGee's obviously going through a hard time. Now, I know you've decided to make him your target for hazing, but I think you can stand to let up on him right now."

"That's the last thing he needs, Kate."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, the kid doesn't need to wallow in self-pity and self-doubt and that's just what he's going to do otherwise. If I play 'Nice Tony' he'll know I'm just doing it because I feel sorry for him and he'll start to wonder why I'm giving him my pity and it'll be a never-ending merry-go-round. This way he at least has some semblance of normalcy. Besides, if he's angry at me it'll at least take his mind off all of this crap."

She frowned uncertainly. The idea was logical and she could see Tony was sincere, but she still hated the idea of antagonizing Tim further. "Just don't push it too far," she warned.

* * *

Upstairs, Gibbs and Detective Kelly were reaching a compromise with the help of Detective Washburn. "We take the body," Kelly said firmly.

"Fair enough," Gibbs said with a shrug, "but I want our M.E. to get a report. Our forensics specialist also gets a full report of everything found in this house."

Kelly didn't argue the demands, but he wasn't without his own. "I want to talk to your Agent McGee again."

"He's not going to tell you anything he hasn't already."

"Maybe we haven't been asking him the right questions."

Gibbs glared at the man. "He's a special agent, not a Magic 8 Ball. His answers aren't going to change just because you shake him up."

"Why don't we discuss the murder," Washburn suggested, stepping between the two men. Tensions were high among them all, and though they were ultimately working toward the same goal, she recognized a stubbornness in each of these men that made it clear they each wanted to be the alpha male in the room. _Sometimes it takes a woman_, she thought wryly as she effectively diffused the situation, at least for the moment.

"Tell me what you know," Gibbs replied, giving Kelly a look that indicated this wasn't finished.

"The man is George Moore, former principal of Samuel Chase High School in Maryland," Washburn said, reading off her notepad.

"Yeah, I got that part," he snapped. "What else?"

"He retired five years ago. His wife passed away two years ago after a long struggle with ovarian cancer. His next of kin are two children: Lance Moore, 42, who lives about an hour away with his wife and three children, and Marie Sanderson, 35, who lives a few blocks away with her husband and two children."

"Have you contacted the kids yet?"

"I have. The daughter claims that she and her husband were here last night for a visit and didn't notice anything strange. They left around midnight and everything seemed fine."

"Tell me about the body."

Kelly took over there. "Mr. Moore sustained multiple cuts along his chest and legs. They were shallow, but not painless. He also had third degree burns along his ears and fingers as though someone held a lighter up to his skin."

"And how did he die?"

"Broken neck. His head was spun around."

It was a method of killing Gibbs knew all too well. One clean break, and it was all over. "Was the lock picked?"

Kelly grunted an affirmative response. "Our M.E. marks the time of death as being sometime between 0200 and 0300. We found drops of chloroform on the bed and pillow. If I had to guess, the daughter and husband left and our killer decided to make her move. Mr. Moore took medicine for back pain and it usually put him into a pretty deep sleep, so it wouldn't be surprising if our girl managed to pick the lock and sneak up here without waking him. Then, to be on the safe side, she hit him with the chloroform. She bound his hands and tied them to the headboard. She also gagged him, which I believe is a first among her victims."

"She didn't want to wake the neighbors," Gibbs commented. "Very methodical."

"There you go, Gibbs. We've told you what we know, now tell us what you know."

"I sent you the files from the Blanchard killing."

"Damn it, you know what I'm talking about," Kelly bellowed. "The Blanchard guy didn't do it. So who else have you got on your suspect list?"

Gibbs peered into the bedroom, considering his options. No point in avoiding the question. "One of the classmates who hasn't been reach yet. Her name is Vicki Frankel."

Kelly took note of the name. "Got anything else on her? Know where she is?"

"If I did don't you think we would have brought her in for questioning already?"

"Any others on your list?"

"Not at the moment, but when we know something, I'll call you."

"Sure," Kelly replied cynically. He had a feeling he would have to stay close to NCIS if he wanted anything from them. "If that's it, we're through here. You guys can head off."

"And you'll send us everything you've got from here?" Gibbs asked. Detective Kelly's noncommittal grunt didn't sound promising, but he wasn't in the mood to fight. He'd get the reports one way or another.

"Kate," he said as he descended the stairs, "where are you with the beauty salons?"

"Gibbs, it's not even 0800. Half of them aren't open yet."

"Well, try the other half. DiNozzo, get McGee and pack up the truck. We're heading out."

"But, boss, we didn't even get anything here," Tony pointed out in confusion.

"Yeah, I can see that. Now if you're done stating the obvious, pack up."

Tony shrugged and did was he was told. Bag in hand, he retreated outside to where Tim was dutifully clearing up items that had shifted during the drive down there. He peeked in, content to see Tim doing something other than fretting for the first time in a few days.

"Time to go, McGoo."

"Now?" Tim asked, exiting the back of the truck. "But it feels like we just got here."

"Yeah, we pretty much did. Metro's edging us out."

"And Gibbs is letting them?"

"Apparently our fearless leader doesn't think it's necessary to argue with Metro over a body and some fingerprints."

Tim frowned. "That's not like him. Maybe it's worse than I thought."

Tony rolled his eyes and administered another smack to Tim's head. "Go get your stuff, Probie, or we'll leave without you."

As Tim obediently went to retrieve his bag, Tony felt a pang of sympathy. This wasn't something he'd like to watch anyone suffer through, particularly someone as young and, dare he say, naïve as Tim. _But the kid's got to learn to take the pressure if he wants to survive here_, he reminded himself, _especially with Gibbs_.

* * *

She watches the scene unfold and feels the irrational anger bubble up inside of her stomach. Obviously she's been mistaken in assuming the bullying had ended in high school. Some of them just never grow up.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. She remembers the name with loathing. A ladies man. The kind who thinks any woman would give her right arm for a date with him. But not this woman; no, she's too smart for that kind.

What reason could he possibly have for treating Tim that way? What had the unassuming young man ever done? Nothing, that she knows. Some bullies don't need a reason for their actions. They just need the thrill of being in power, like some sort of sick aphrodisiac. It's a feeling she admits she knows well. Her power, though, is far greater than theirs; hers is the power of life and death. She is judge, jury, and executioner. In her court justice is not so blind.

It was to have ended with the old man, but now she sees she has one left yet. One more bully to teach a lesson.

With new determination, she starts the car and pulls onto the road. This one will take a little more preparation than the others, but it will be worth it. In fact…

She smiles in anticipation. Yes, this one will be the most magnificent yet.


	25. Chapter 25

"I'm sorry, Agent Todd, but I can't recall anyone getting the fiberglass nail treatment in quite some time. It's not exactly the most popular thing we offer here."

Kate bit back a groan. She'd finally gotten a hold of three of the local beauty parlors that offered the service, but none recalled any of their customers ordering it within the past three months. "Thank you anyway," Kate said as she crossed the name off her list. "We'd still like any security footage you have."

"Yes, of course. Our cameras only record for one month, though. Then the tapes are erased and reused."

"That's better than nothing. Thank you." Kate placed the phone into its cradle and looked at the next beauty parlor on her list. Only two left, and one of them wasn't going to be open for another hour.

"How's that coming along, Kate?" Tony asked.

"Slow," she muttered. "I'm beginning to think this is a dead end."

"Well, it's better than I'm doing. This Frankel girl sure is going to great lengths to remain hidden."

"Maybe that's because she has something to hide."

"Do you think she does?"

Kate considered the question for a few second and then simply shrugged. "She's as good a suspect as anyone. I can't imagine there are that many people out there who would want these men dead."

Gibbs had gone down to discuss things with Abby and Ducky, taking Tim with him. They had little to go on at the moment and Gibbs intended to keep a close eye on his probationary agent. He hadn't thought things could get worse, but they steadily did each day and he didn't like the effects this was having on Tim.

"Sure makes you think, doesn't it?" Kate added as she dialed the number of the next salon.

"Makes you think about what?"

"If any of your high school classmates might be plotting to come after you. I'm sure you angered more than a few people during your four years in high school, Tony," she said with a playful gleam in her eye.

"Ha, ha," he replied sarcastically, though there was a small pause of worry. "Believe it or not, Kate, I wasn't quite the bully you like to think I was. I mean, I admit to some harmless hazing," he said, a small smile creeping onto his face as he recalled his high school days and the pranks he'd pulled on a few unsuspecting underclassmen, "but even me and my friends never went that far on someone. It was all in good fun."

"Yeah, fun for you," Kate muttered under her breath.

Tony glanced up. "What was that, Kate?"

She was saved from answering him as her call to Fabulous Nails went through. "Yes, hello, this is Special Agent Todd calling from NCIS…Naval Criminal Investigative Service…"

Tony frowned, but returned to his own work. So far, he'd traced the elusive Ms. Frankel as far as the apartment she'd been living in for the past five years. A month after she was let go from her job, she'd paid half a year's rent in advance and had subleased the place out to a friend, claiming she was taking time off to "find herself." Tony didn't know what that meant, nor did he care. All he cared about was tracking her down.

Her credit cards were dormant, but she had taken a large sum of money out of the bank before pulling her disappearing act, including a bond worth nearly twenty thousand dollars. With that much at her disposal, who knew how long she could hide away?

"Yes, well, thank you for your help. Let me know if anyone remembers anything else." Kate sighed as she placed the phone down once more. "You'd think for such a rare thing, it'd be easy to find our girl. I'd never even heard of fiberglass nail treatments until yesterday."

"That's assuming Ducky's right about the fiberglass nails thing. For all we know the fiberglass was from something else and this whole thing has just been a big waste of time."

"Oh, thanks, Tony, that makes me feel better about spending two hours talking with beauty parlors."

"No need to get snippety, Kate," he muttered. "I'm just trying to be helpful. Anyway, you're not the one who has to track down Houdini."

"Any hits on the car BOLO?" Frankel had been last seen driving off in her white Honda Accord, the back stuffed with as many of her belongings as she could fit.

He glowered at her. "If there were, don't you think I'd be following up on them?"

"No need to get snippety, Tony," she shot back with a smug grin. "I'm just trying to be helpful."

* * *

Director Morrow and the Metro Director had spent the better part of the morning negotiating who would take the lead on the case. NCIS had jurisdiction over the first body, but Metro had jurisdiction over the rest of them. Not even the undeniable connection to Tim could make Metro budge on that. They did, however, finally release Wickmar's car to NCIS, the car in which Fitcher's body had been found.

The car had been delivered almost an hour earlier and was currently situated in the garage. Abby, with no more evidence to process at the moment (Metro was dragging their feet on getting her anything from Moore's house), had arrived in her coveralls, ready to go over the vehicle with a fine-toothed comb and, in her own words, "catch whatever those Metro dorks had missed." Tim had been left down there to assist with that, as well as pick up where Tony and Kate had left off with the welder/solder angle. It was a long shot, he knew, but it was mostly busy work.

In the meantime, Gibbs headed down to autopsy where he found Ducky and Jimmy finishing up on Chris' body.

"There is nothing more for this poor young man to tell me, Jethro," Ducky said as Jimmy sewed up the Y-cut on the chest. "As I said yesterday, death was caused by an overdose of sedatives and all the other wounds were inflicted post-mortem."

"Not why I'm down here, Duck. You get in contact with your Metro friend?"

Ducky glanced side-long at Jimmy. His young protégé was doing his best to pretend he wasn't listening in, but it didn't take much to see that his ears had perked. Still new to the NCIS world, Jimmy regarded his job as something out of a movie or TV show and was always ready for something exciting to happen.

"Thomas and I have spoken," Ducky said evenly. "As you were told, the cause of death for Mr. Moore was a broken neck. Snapped cleanly, he says, all the way around."

"Hard to believe a woman could do that," Jimmy said without thinking, "even to a guy as old as him." He looked up and the amused grin fell from his face when he saw the two pairs of eyes on him. "Uh…I…sorry…"

"Actually, Mr. Palmer, when you have been with NCIS for a bit longer, I think you will learn that it is not so hard to believe as you think."

"Breaking the neck is nothing," Gibbs said, somehow managing to sound threatening without even trying. "If you know what you're doing, you don't have to exert much effort at all."

Ducky raised his eyebrows as the words sank in. "Are you suggesting our femme fatale might be trained in such an art?"

"I think she knows a thing or two. She's certainly not squeamish."

"No," Ducky agreed grimly, "of all the things she is, squeamish is not one of them."

"Any word on when you'll be getting the body here?"

"No, but when I do you will know. I'll try my best to keep Timothy from seeing it, though. I don't know that he can handle seeing more ghosts of the past, especially in this condition. Speaking of which, where is he?"

"I left him in the garage with Abby."

"And he is doing well?"

"As well as he can, Duck."

Ducky frowned pensively, but he didn't push. He knew better than to step in when Gibbs was on one of his rampages. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there would be ramifications because of this case, even once the killer _had_ been caught.

"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs said as he walked out, his mind on a similar train of thought, though he wasn't about to vocalize his concerns.

Upstairs, he found Abby digging through the car while Tim sat by with a laptop. Various evidence jars sat along the table nearby.

"Find anything, Abbs?"

"Ha!" she replied sarcastically. "After Metro has been through it? Fat chance, Gibbs."

"I thought you were supposed to find what they missed."

"Yeah, I thought so too," she grumbled. "They were at least nice enough to send us what they did get from the car."

"And that is?"

"Some fingerprints, hair, that kind of stuff. The hair they found in the trunk was mostly Fitcher's, of course, although they did find a couple strands of blonde hair in there and in the driver's seat, likely belonging to our murderous madam. Also found a few that are probably Wickmar's."

"What about the fingerprints?"

"All are either Fitcher's or Wickmar's, but here's where it gets a little more interesting."

"Only a little more?"

"I don't want to overstate things, Gibbs." She grabbed a sheet from the table and handed it over to him. "Metro found residue on the steering wheel and on the tarp Fitcher was wrapped in. It was—"

"Hydrochloric acid," he finished, reading it from the sheet.

"Our good friend. She was obviously wearing gloves. My guess is that she also uses the gloves while doing metal work."

"Makes sense," Gibbs agreed. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Tim was still sitting in the same position he'd been in when Gibbs had entered the garage. In fact, he hadn't made so much as a sound. "McGee," he said. But Tim didn't respond. "McGee!" he repeated, louder this time.

Tim jumped in his seat. "Uh, boss."

"Any headway?"

He shook his head. "Boss, metal work isn't really an at-home business these days. Most of it is done at plants or mills. It's possible this woman is doing it out of her home, but unless she's registered herself as an actual business or corporation, it'll be impossible to trace."

"Then what have you been doing since I left you here?"

"Well, I was thinking about finding Vicki. I mean, I know you've got Tony tracking her, but I was thinking that, even if she's run off, she may be using something else to keep in touch with things going on. We know she took her laptop, so maybe she's using it."

"That's good thinking. Got anything?"

Tim frowned. "Without an IP address, I can't do much on tracking the actual computer. But then I remembered how my sister has a LiveJournal page."

"A what page?"

"LiveJournal," Tim repeated. "You know."

"No, I don't know, McGee."

"It's a social network," Abby explained. "You put together a profile and friend people. Then you can leave entries, like a journal."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess some people just want to publish their thoughts and opinions on the internet."

"So what's the point, McGee?"

Tim turned the laptop to face Gibbs and Abby. On the screen was a LiveJournal profile. The background of the page was a picture of outer space. There was no picture, but the name was Vicki Frankel.

"She's got a LiveJournal, boss," he said, "and she's been updating it while she's been gone."

"Updating it how?"

"Leaving little notes and entries. Things she's seen, people she's encountered, things she's feeling."

Gibbs' eyes scanned the page. "She say where she is?"

"No, but I found a couple of entries that are…well…I guess I should just show you." Tim's fingers flew across the keyboard as he pulled up another entry. "This one is from three months ago."

_What a piece of work is a man…_

_If only we could give them back. They're all the same. They only want one thing. They don't care about your feelings and wants and needs. They just jump in and take what they want with brute force._

_He's the same as them. I thought he was different, but now I see that I was blinded by my own girlish fancies. I allowed myself to be taken in by a sweet smile and now look where I'm left._

_This is high school all over again. Because life is just high school all over again. There's a food chain, and we women—especially those of us with actual minds, as opposed to those brainless bimbos who giggle incessantly and allow themselves to be painted and primped like Barbie dolls—are pushed firmly into the bottom, practically bound and gagged by the higher-ups who claim they know what's best for us. I'm a bottom feeder in a sea of sharks who smile at you while they devour you whole. _

_I'm drowning._

_Now I must become a hunter if I am to survive; it's up to me to rid the world of these predators. I keep a keen eye open, aware of them and who they are. _What_ they are._

_No longer will they be allowed to devour poor, unsuspecting guppies. We will strike back._

"Wow," Abby murmured, "she has got a lot of pent up rage. Sounds like she's angry at the world."

"And then some," Tim agreed. "Most of her entries are in the same vein."

"Any of them more recent?" Gibbs asked.

With a few clicks, Tim brought up her most recent page. "Her last entry was a week ago, boss, and she doesn't seem any happier than before."

_These men…so smug and so sure. They think people aren't on to them. They think they can get away with it, with the things they've done and the people they've hurt. But they're wrong. I'm on to them._

_You boys have had your fun. But no longer._

_Watch your back._

"I want her found," Gibbs said tersely. "And I want her found now."

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who is reading! I appreciate it :) A couple of you have pointed out the fact that the story is switching back and forth between past and present tense. This was a choice I made early on in the writing process. I felt that by having the killer's scenes told in present tense, it kind of upped the stakes a bit and made those scenes more dramatic. Obviously, not everyone is going to like that choice, and that's fine, but as of now I intend to keep it that way :)

Thank you again!


	26. Chapter 26

"Why did this happen, Agent Gibbs?"

The question—which came from George Moore's daughter, Marie—was a difficult one for Gibbs to answer. While they had a fairly good idea of what had set this killing spree into motion, it was hard to articulate that to a family member of one of the victims; it was even harder to articulate it to two of them.

"It's difficult to say at this time," he said, the most diplomatic response he could give. "We believe this has something to do with another set of murders."

"The students from Dad's old school," Lance Moore said, nodding slowly. "I read about them in the paper. Never thought it would come back to him."

"Neither did we," Gibbs admitted.

"Metro said one of your employees has a connection to all of this," Lance continued, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. "Detective Kelly told me that someone on your team was a student at Dad's old school too, that he was bullied by the other victims."

Gibbs inwardly cursed the Metro detective, making a mental note to take this up with him later. "That's true, but my man has an alibi. He's just as intent on finding this killer as anyone."

"But he knows who's doing this."

"Not necessarily. We're working with his knowledge of the school to narrow down our leads."

"And while you're doing that, maybe someone else is being tortured right now!" Marie snapped, tears springing into her eyes. She let out a guttural sob and began searching through her purse for a tissue. "My father shouldn't have died this way," she said, dabbing her eyes and nose. "I can't even envision what perceived slight this psycho has imagined to justify what he's done to my father."

"Marie," her husband said, laying a hand over her shoulder.

She pulled away, now sobbing openly. "We were there! We were just there…if we'd stayed…"

"Then you may have been hurt too," Gibbs said calmly. "We've no reason to think this person wouldn't have killed anyone who got in her way."

"Her?" Lance asked, not missing Gibbs' choice of pronoun.

Gibbs frowned. "Yes, Mr. Moore; as of now, we have reason to believe our killer is female."

"And what reason is that, Agent Gibbs?"

"It's classified," he said firmly, leaving no room for debate on the matter. "Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

Lance Moore glowered at him, as though Gibbs himself were responsible for this. "You can find this killer!"

"Yeah, we're working on it," Gibbs said as he stood. It was obvious to him that George Moore's children had nothing to tell him that he didn't already know. They were just grieving children who were taking their anger and remorse out on the person nearest to them, and that just so happened to be Gibbs.

He opened the door and ushered in another man. "Agent Ritz will see you out of the building. If you think of anything else, please, don't hesitate to call me."

"Right," Lance muttered with a snort. "I'd sooner call that Metro detective. At least he's not covering for anyone."

Gibbs felt his face grow red with ire. "What was that?" he asked, trying to keep his tone level.

But Lance didn't respond. He simply walked out with his sister and her husband, not even granting Gibbs a second look.

Gibbs' jaw tightened, but he closed the door gently, resisting the urge to slam it in anger. They didn't mean it, he knew; families of victims had their own ways of dealing with the ordeal, and this was obviously theirs. But they needed to realize that they weren't the only ones who had been affected by this tragedy.

His mind went to Tim. The young man hadn't said much since their visit to the crime scene that morning. He'd been in a palpably dour mood for most of the day, which was understandable considering the circumstances. Gibbs was grateful that the search for Vicki Frankel had called upon Tim's computer skills because it had given the young agent something else to concentrate on for the time being.

Gibbs counted to ten, and then he reopened the door and stepped out, ready to check on his team.

* * *

"This girl hates men," Tony commented as he read through Vicki's LiveJournal. "I mean, she _really_ hates men. It's like misogyny…only against men."

"Misandry," Kate supplied. She, too, was scrolling through the archived entries of the missing woman's blog.

She had gotten in touch with the last beauty salon, but had been told that the specialist who offers the fiberglass nail treatment was only in on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so she'd made a note to call back the next day. Not that the team had originally been scheduled to work that weekend, but considering the circumstances, they knew Gibbs would insist upon it. It only made sense, after all.

"Either way, it doesn't really give us much of a clue as to where she is," Tony said before he moved ahead to the next page of entries. "We just know she's really pissed off at the world."

"That's why Gibbs has McGee and Abby tracing her computer activity. If she posts another entry, they may be able to back trace the signal and figure out where she's posting from."

Tony snorted. "Oh, this one's nice," he said before reading the entry aloud. "'To the manwhore who knows who he is: You are a despicable excuse for a human being. You think every woman in the world wants you, that they just can't resist your charms. But they can. The fact is, most women can see that your only interests are your self and your car. The ones who can't see that are obviously idiots who aren't worth the air they breathe. I hope you and your precious car get caught in a mudslide and you're buried in there for all eternity. You two deserve each other.'"

"Sounds like she's talking about you, Tony," Kate said with a playful smirk. "I'd watch out for mudslides on my way home, if I were you."

"You're just a barrel of laughs, Kate," he grumbled in response. "Maybe you and our little ray of sunshine here should get together for some drinks. You know, maybe boil a bunny or two; burn your bras together."

"I think you just want me to burn my bras, Tony."

"The idea had crossed my mind," he admitted with a lascivious grin, not even trying to hide how his eyes flickered across her body appreciatively. "Then, maybe the two of you could have some girl-on-girl action. Just don't forget to take pictures for me."

Kate rolled her eyes. "You have a problem."

"More than one, Kate," Gibbs said, walking up behind them.

"McGee and Abby get a fix on Frankel, boss?"

"Not yet. Any hits on the BOLO, DiNozzo?"

Tony grabbed the notice that had come in through the fax machine. "A cop in Alexandria saw the car at a Burger King drive-thru, but she pulled off before he had a chance to verify if it was Frankel in the car. He tried to follow her, but got struck with a flat tire."

"Alexandria," Kate commented. "That's where the first three bodies were found."

"Well, duh, Sherlock," Tony antagonized. "I think we can safely conclude that this Vicki Frankel is the woman we've been looking for.

"Oh, yeah, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, not fully convinced.

Tony balked slightly beneath Gibbs' look, but he didn't backtrack. "With all due respect, boss, it seems pretty open and shut. She was spotted in the same vicinity as the bodies of our first three victims. All of our victims have been men, and I think she's proven herself to be pretty angry at all things male. And if that isn't enough for a jury to convict, she's the only connection between all of the victims. Well, the only one who doesn't have an alibi, at least. She'd have a hard time talking her way out of this one."

"Doesn't mean she wouldn't be able to," Gibbs said. "With the right lawyer, Jack the Ripper could have walked free."

"They never caught Jack the Ripper." Tony was once again subject to Gibbs' glares. "Uh, not your point, boss, I know."

"I don't know," Kate said, shaking her head, "something about it doesn't feel right."

"What's McGee got to say about this?" Tony asked.

"Not much, at the moment."

So far, Tim had kept most of his opinions regarding his former schoolmate to himself. He neither confirmed nor denied whether he thought she might be behind this. Whether it was from his own doubts, wanting to protect a fellow bullying victim, or simply the strain the case was taking on him, no one knew. But his reserved nature was nothing new, and, considering the circumstances, none of them could blame him for retreating further back into a reclusive like state.

Still, it was difficult to imagine that he didn't have some sort of opinion on the matter.

"Nothing?" Kate asked. "I know they may not have been friends, but he knows her better than we do."

"Maybe," was Gibbs' cryptic response. "I doubt he could give us any insight on this woman that her Live…diary thing, can't."

"LiveJournal," Tony corrected.

"Whatever it's called. That's our best window into this woman's life."

Tony frowned. "Well, then it's up to Abby and McGee to jimmy the lock on that window."

* * *

The resident computer experts weren't having much luck either. They'd been holed up in Abby's lab for the past couple of hours, lying in wait for Frankel's next move.

"Ugh," Abby groaned, her cheek resting against a fisted hand. "Is she _ever_ going to update this thing?"

"Maybe she knows we're onto her and is trying to be discreet," Tim said pessimistically.

"Doubtful, McGee. How could she? The woman's been MIA for, like, five months. I don't think she has any clue what we know." She refreshed the page, seeing if anything had been added.

In the meantime, Tim had taken to checking some of the websites Vicki had listed in her blog entries. They ranged from a DeviantArt account, in which she posted fanart for a few popular anime series, to an online MMORPG in which she played a practitioner of the dark arts. The game wasn't one Tim was familiar with, but a precursory glance showed it to be quite dark and even bloodier than the ones he played. There was also far more sex involved, so much so that couldn't tell if it was a game or some form of pornography.

"The last time she logged on to play was two days ago," he said, looking at her profile. "She used her character—Mystique—to place a spell on a male character by the name of Bazaar, making him…uh…impotent."

"Impotent?" an amused Abby echoed.

"Then she…well, let's just say she's a big fan of whips and other painful gadgets."

"What's the goal of this game again?" she asked, leaning over to look at the screen.

But Tim had already exited the window, his face twisted into an expression of revulsion. "I don't know, and I think I'm okay with that."

"Hinky stuff, huh?"

"And then some."

"Was she like that in high school?"

Tim considered the question for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know. She mostly kept to herself."

Abby grinned widely. "It's always the quiet ones."

"Got anything on her cell phone?" Tim asked.

"Nada," she said, shaking her head sadly. "No outgoing calls, no incoming calls. It's not even on, as far as I can tell. According to one of her entries, she's trying to cut herself off from her friends and family as some sort of soul cleansing. It's pretty lame. She even compares it to the way Native Americans traveled out into the woods with nothing to be guided by a spirit."

"Not quite the same when you've got money and modern luxuries on hand, is it?" he commented. "I guess her MMORPGs are too important to leave behind, even for soul cleansing."

"You're one to talk," Abby teased. "I don't think you'd be able to go a week without your computer."

"Fair enough," he begrudgingly admitted. "But I'm not the one claiming to cut myself off and comparing it to Native American soul searching."

She laughed and refreshed the screen once again. Still nothing.

"So did you and this girl ever…you know."

"Ever what?" he asked, looking at the computer with rapt attention.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Ever date, McGee."

His eyebrows shot up. "Me and Vicki? No, we never dated."

"Well, she must have had some strange fascination with you, then."

"Everyone keeps saying that, but she never showed any interest in me," he said with a frown.

"You were probably oblivious to it."

"I think I would have noticed if someone liked me."

"McGee, I love you, but you can be pretty damn oblivious sometimes."

"I'm an investigator, Abby."

"Well, yeah, and that's fine. But when it comes to women you've still got a lot to learn."

"Then enlighten me," he said, not even looking away from the screen. Abby didn't reply. "Abbs," he repeated, "I said—"

"McGee, she just logged on!"

In a flash, Tim was out of his chair, politely shooing her out of hers and taking her spot. He back-traced the signal from her online presence and soon discovered that it was piggybacking off a wireless network set up in an Alexandria coffee shop. Tim could feel his heart rate increasing. "Call Gibbs," he said. "Let him know."

While Abby did that, Tim took a look at the entry she had just posted and his heart plummeted:

_He never saw it coming. Just like the others, he was so sure, so certain he was invincible. But no more. _

_It felt good for me. It was like a release. Seeing his face when he realized what I'd done; it was like seeing every aggressor I've ever known get hit. In his face I also saw the other victims, the ones who would get their own justice through me and my acts._

_I hope these men will serve as warnings to others, a haunting lesson to them about what could happen if they continue down the same path._

_I am the warrior. I shall have my vengeance._


	27. Chapter 27

She exits the coffee shop, laptop tucked securely beneath her arm, cup of coffee in her hand, and heads for her car. The internet signal at her home isn't good and it's cheaper for her to visit one of the many cafes for the free wireless on the occasion she needs or wants to get online. Though, she tries to vary which ones she visits, never going to the same one twice within a month. No need to have her face appear on the security cameras too many times in a row.

She slides into the car, carefully places the laptop on the passenger seat, and attempts to place the coffee in the cup holder. However, in the process, she somehow manages to pop to top off and spill the contents all over her hand. She hisses in pain, shaking her hand in an attempt to get the hot liquid off.

It's unusual for her to be so clumsy. Why is her hand shaking the way it is?

She knows the reason.

She's anxious; she wants to move in on her next victim now. Just thinking about it has her body trembling with anticipation. But she knows she must be patient. The time is not right.

With her seatbelt securely fastened—and the offending cup of coffee recovered and safely in its holder—she pulls into the Alexandria traffic. She is headed home for the time being. There, she intends to rest for a while and then prepare herself for that evening. She wants to look perfect. Perfect hair, perfect dress, perfect make-up.

Perfect nails.

She looks disdainfully at the nails. She'd hoped to have them done that day, but the wretched salon worker was only in on Wednesdays and Saturdays. She would put her final kill off until tomorrow night, after she'd had a chance to get her nails done, but she simply can't wait any longer. It has to be tonight.

It is all planned out to a T. She knows who her target it, she knows how she'll get him, and she knows what she'll do with him. And nothing will go wrong. Nothing _can_ go wrong. If anything does…well, she doesn't even want to think about that. All she wants to think about is Tim and what he'll say when he sees her.

In her own private daydream, she makes a sharp turn onto a residential street, nearly hitting a pedestrian who is walking past with his young son. The man gives her a glare; she simply smirks. Would serve him right if she ran them both down. They probably deserve it anyway.

She continues on down the street, gently tapping her fingers against the wheel. That's when she sees the police car behind her. His siren is blaring and the lights are flashing, both presumably meant for her.

But why? She isn't speeding, that much she knows. Sure, she'd almost hit those people, but she had stopped in time. Perhaps the police car is meant for another driver or is on its way to another crime scene?

She increases her speed slightly; the police car does the same. She makes a turn, and so does the car.

There is no doubt in her mind; she's the one he's after. Her options are limited.

She can continue driving, pretending she doesn't notice him, hoping she'll eventually lose him. Unlikely.

She can engage him in a high speed chase, again hoping she'll simply lose him in the fray. No. That might capture attention from the media.

Her last option is the one she ultimately chooses. Slowly, she pulls over to the side and watches in her rearview mirror as he does the same. The police officer—a young man who looks like he has probably just graduated high school—exits the car and approaches her, the expression on his face making it clear that he's not fooling around.

She rolls down the window when he gets there and gives him her best and brightest smile, hoping he's the type to let a pretty girl off with a warning.

He reaches her window. "Yes, officer?" she coos sweetly.

* * *

**AN: **Yes, this one was a short chapter, but the next one will be longer, I promise. And a lot is going to be happening in these upcoming chapters!


	28. Chapter 28

Vicki Frankel was escorted into NCIS headquarters by a young Metro cop who had spotted her car and noticed there was a BOLO out on it. The woman was so infuriated by being brought in that handcuffs had become necessary. She was led, kicking and screaming, toward one of the interrogation rooms. On the other side, the team stood, watching her with a strange mixture of fascination, disgust, and, in Tim's case, a little fear.

"She's definitely changed since high school," he commented.

And she had. Gone was the fat that had once clung to her body and face. Left behind was a beautiful woman with a shapely figure and a heart-shaped face, nicely framed by her blonde hair. Her green eyes shot daggers at the one-way mirror, well aware that someone on the other side was watching. "Get me the hell out of here!" she spat.

"Feisty," Tony commented, adding a guttural growl for good measure.

"She looks like our mystery woman," Kate said in agreement. "Well, minus the blue hair and large sunglasses."

Tim nodded, though uncertainly. While she had the right height and build to be their psycho, he still wasn't convinced. It wasn't like she was the only women in the area with that figure, and without a better shot of the mystery woman's face they couldn't be absolutely convinced it was her.

"So, want me to take her, boss?" Tony asked, eyeing their new suspect appreciatively. Murder or not, Tony could still take a second to admire a beautiful woman.

"That won't be necessary, DiNozzo. You three stay here," Gibbs ordered before exiting the observation room.

Kate smirked at Tony. "It's too bad she's crazy, huh, Tony? Otherwise, she'd be just your type."

"Yeah," he agreed, almost drooling. "How did a dowdy science geek manage to transform into such a…"

"Babe?"

"I was going to say _swan_, Kate," he replied a sideways glare, "but that word works too."

"Lots of attractive celebrities were awkward and a little homely when they were younger. Just look at someone like Jerry O'Connell."

"Jerry O'Connell?" Tim asked.

"He was the fat kid in _Stand by Me_, Probie. I imagine you of all people would probably identify with him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tim asked, his face turning red with anger. He knew what Tony meant, of course, but he couldn't articulate a better response.

"Well, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Tony, shut up!" Kate hissed. She knew he thought he was helping, but this was bordering on cruel, even for Tony. "Don't make me separate you two."

"Sorry, McGee," he conceded, even appearing a little contrite. "That was uncalled for."

Tim nodded, but didn't respond. Instead, he turned his focus to the interrogation room where Gibbs had just taken his seat.

"Vicki Frankel," he greeted. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs."

"I don't have to talk to you," she said with a sneer.

He raised his eyebrows. "No, you're right; you don't have to talk to me. But by not talking, you only make yourself look guiltier."

"I've got nothing to be guilty about. I haven't done anything and you have no right to keep me here."

Gibbs was silent for a few seconds, studying the furious women sitting across from him. Then, he reached into the folder he held and removed a small stack of pictures. He laid the five of them out, one next to the other. "Recognize these men?"

Vicki leaned over and studied the pictures, her expression never changing. "Well, these three are some asshole jocks from my high school, this one's some other geek from my high school, and that one is my old principal."

"You don't remember their names?"

"I don't remember the names of insignificant people, Agent…I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" she asked snidely, obviously well aware of his name, but wanting to imply to him that he was just as insignificant in her eyes and these men had been.

"Gibbs," he said, not even blinking an eye. "Special Agent Gibbs. You'll want to remember my name. I'm sure you'll want to curse it when I charge you with murder."

If he was expecting that to have an affect on her, he was mistaken. It seemed Gibbs had met his match in this woman. She simply leaned back and looked back down at the pictures. "What happened to them?"

"What does it look like?"

"Hard to tell. I mean, they're obviously dead."

"That they are," he said. He then went down the row, pointing to each and saying, "Cpl. Daniel Wickmar was drowned, Steven Ashhcroft had his head peeled until he bleed to death, Brian Fitcher was sodomized with a knife, also until he bleed to death, Christopher Blanchard was given an overdose of sleeping pills, and George Moore had his head snapped clean around. All except Blanchard were tortured mercilessly before finally dying."

"I see."

"Is that all you have to say, Ms. Frankel?"

She considered the question, her eyes looking over the line of photos before responding. "I guess they must have done something pretty awful to deserve it."

"What would you say they could have done to deserve it?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I mean, they were all men, so they've probably done something terrible. I know Wickmar, Ashcroft, and Fitcher definitely deserved it. They made the lives of so many miserable; looks like karma finally caught up to them."

"They bullied you?"

"They bullied _everyone_," she snapped, her eyes filled with rage. "They teased and taunted you as you walked by. They hit you if you made them mad, or even if they just felt like it. They pulled pranks, humiliating you just so they could make themselves feel better. No one was safe."

"So if you were smart or different, they went after you?"

"If you were _breathing_ they went after you. I ran into one of Ashcroft's old girlfriends a few years back. She told me all about how he took a picture of her smoking and drinking at one of their parties. When she said she wasn't ready to have sex with him, he threatened to show her parents the pictures if she didn't. They were religious fanatics and she would have been pulled out of school in a second and sent to an all-girls boarding school if they saw those pictures. Personally, I would have found that preferable," she added with a sneer. "Anyway, she gave in and once he'd gotten what he wanted, he dumped her like garbage. But he always held those pictures above her head, anytime he wanted something from her. And trust me, that's not the only story I've got about them."

"Sounds like they had lots of enemies."

"They did. I'm far from the only one who would have wanted them…" She trailed off at that and even managed to look a bit sheepish.

"Dead?" Gibbs supplied.

"I'm not going to deny that it's crossed my mind. Those three weren't human; they were animals. I'm glad someone finally took care of them."

"And what about the other two? Blanchard and Moore. What could they have done to deserve this?"

"Principal Moore was a spineless louse," she said with a snort. "The man had his lips on the ass of anyone he thought could help him get ahead. The parents of the bullies were usually loaded or in some position of power, and the bullies themselves were almost always stars of one or more of the sports teams. If they were suspended or expelled, the team may not win, and if the team didn't win, the school didn't get as much money and prestige; so they were pretty much invincible."

"Is that so?"

Vicki leaned forward, beckoning with her index finger for Gibbs to do the same. Then, in a soft, conspiratorial voice, she continued. "The first time I complained about them, Principal Moore assured me he would look into it; the second time, he informed me that it was probably a misunderstanding on my part. After that, he started barring me from his office, telling me that I was a chronic complainer who would never be pleased." She tilted her face downward and glared the picture of Moore's corpse. "You know what he told me, Agent Gibbs?"

He shook his head, his face remaining calm. "No. What?"

She looked back up, the anger in her eyes now replaced by fear and pain. She suddenly looked like the insecure, bullied teenage girl she had been years earlier. "He told me that I should stop trying to be so different, that if I made an extra effort to be nicer, people would like me more. I mean…can you imagine the gall? The audacity?" She was shaking in anger now, clutching tightly at the side of the table as her face turned an ugly crimson color. "I wasn't even _asking_ them to like me; I just wanted to go to school and learn without being noticed. I tried to stick myself in the background, but they insisted on pulling me to the front. I could have been Pollyanna for all they cared; they still would have come after me."

On the other side of the glass, Tim winced, remembering all too well the way certain faculty members managed to turn the situation around and blame it on the victims rather than face the idea of having to discipline one of the bullies.

It was difficult to stand there and watch this interrogation, not because he considered Vicki a friend or anything more than a casual acquaintance from the past. As far as he was concerned, the woman was a stranger to him, someone whose path he'd crossed without even meaning to. But they had a kinship, an understanding. They both knew what those bullies had been capable of, had both suffered the brunt of their cruel pranks, and had both wished something terrible on the men at one or more points in their lives. For Tim, the latter was something of which he was ashamed; for Vicki, it was something of which she had the utmost pride. That was where they differed.

"Okay," Gibbs said, "so we've got your opinions on the bullies and the principal. Now what about Blanchard? As I understand, he was a geek, just like you, someone who spent the better part of his time in high school getting his ass handed to him by these same men. So what could he have done to deserve death?"

Vicki shrugged. "I have no clue, Agent Gibbs. Obviously, he pissed someone off. Maybe he wasn't quite the innocent little geek everyone thought. Maybe he had his hand in some of the bullying here and there. Maybe he, in his cowardice and weakness, actually helped these guys hurt others, just to save his own skin."

Tim frowned. How could she have known that? Did Chris tell her?

"Is that what happened?" Gibbs asked, not giving anything away in his expression.

"Maybe," she said cryptically. Her face was plain once again, any sign of emotions gone. "But I'm just hypothesizing, Agent Gibbs.

"Sounds like you're doing a lot more than that."

"They were bullies, Agent Gibbs," she spat. "They were brutes and cowards and hurt others either through their actions or their inactions. Like I said, I was far from the only one who could have wanted them dead."

"True," he conceded, "but so far all of our other suspects have alibis. What about you?"

"I've been on sabbatical for five months. I've been living out of motels and doing some soul searching. This is the first I've even heard about their deaths."

"So you don't have an alibi." It wasn't a question.

She pursed her lips into a tight frown, her eyes narrowed into near slits. "No, not one that would suit you, I'm sure."

As the others watched the conversation, the door to the observation room opened and one of Director Morrow's lackeys stuck his head in. "Uh, we've got two Metro detectives here. They want to talk to Agent Gibbs and they sound really mad."

Tony groaned. Just what they needed; Metro to come and muck things up. Gibbs was not going to be happy. "Where are they, Howie?"

"I left them in the bullpen with a couple of the guards, Agent DiNozzo."

"I'll go try to smooth things over with them. Kate, let Gibbs know."

"Why me?" She looked into the interrogation room.

"Because I've got senior field agent status," he said, flashing her a dazzling smile. "And what's the good of having such a status if I don't use it?"

"He's incorrigible," she muttered. Interrupting Gibbs during an interrogation was something she'd sworn she'd never do again. Though, she supposed the arrival of the recent thorn in Gibbs' side was reason enough to break that rule.

Her eyes panned toward Tim with concern. She couldn't leave him alone in here, but she also doubted it would do much good to have him there to face Metro. "Why don't you head down to Abby's lab and see what she's got, McGee?"

He looked tempted to do just that, to escape from this room and from having to relive the pain and suffering of his high school years, even if only vicariously through Vicki. He could just go down to Abby's lab, dive into the work and pretend like this was just a normal case, that it had nothing to do with him and his past, that he didn't know any of these people. Work was so much easier when you could disconnect from it like that.

But something about Vicki had rattled him. The way she spoke about the faculty of their school; the way they had cowardly deflected the difficult situations by avoiding them or disconnecting from them altogether. Now here he was, thinking about doing the same thing.

No; this case—this entire ordeal—had a connection to him, whether he liked it or not. He couldn't run from it. He _wouldn't_ run from it. No matter who these men were and no matter what they had done, it was his job to get justice for them to the best of his abilities. If Vicki was indeed the woman who had lured them to their deaths, he wasn't just going to hide himself down in Abby's lab, waiting for the team to finish the dirty work. He wasn't that scared teenager anymore.

"I'll stay," he said firmly.

Kate was surprised by his response; he could see it in her face. To be honest, he was surprised too. But she didn't push him or make any other suggestions. She turned to the speaker and hit the button that allowed her to speak to Gibbs via the intercom in there.

"Gibbs, we need to see you in here."

He wasn't pleased by the disruption, but then, of course, he never was. He dutifully rose from his seat, informing Vicki that they would continue their conversation in a moment.

"Can't wait," was her biting response.

When he stormed into the observation room, Kate felt the chill from his glare. "What?" he asked, keeping his tone level.

"Metro is here, and from the sound of it, they aren't happy."

"Are they ever?" he grumbled. "Where are they?"

"Bullpen. Tony went to talk with them until you could get there," she explained as the trio left the room and walked toward the squad room. "Did you even tell them that we'd found Frankel?"

"Whole thing happened so fast. Must have slipped my mind."

Kate and Tim caught each other's eyes behind Gibbs' back. Both knew that his attempt to shut out Metro had been a calculated move on his part, and one he probably had taken great joy in making.

"I don't want Frankel left alone," he said to them. "I want to keep her off her game."

"Well, I'm sure Kelly and Washburn want to talk to you and you alone," Kate said. "So what do you want us to do?"

"You and McGee keep her company."

Tim balked and Kate looked at Gibbs as though he'd just grown another head. "Gibbs! You can't be serious."

"Have you ever known me to joke around about this kind of thing, Kate?"

"No, but you can't ask McGee to—"

"He's a federal agent. He'll have to get used to talking with suspects."

"Gibbs, you know what I mean. It's not right."

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here," Tim said. His tone was soft, but it still managed to catch the attention of both Kate and Gibbs, stopping them in their tracks.

Kate was sheepish, not even having realized what she was doing. Gibbs, though, looked at the young agent with a critical eye. "What's your opinion on this, McGee?"

"Boss?" he asked, not sure what answer Gibbs was looking for.

"Do you think you can handle confronting Vicki Frankel?"

He didn't know, but Tim knew better than to say that. So he said what he thought Gibbs wanted to hear. "I can take it, boss."

Gibbs nodded. "Then you and Kate deal with her while I play nice with Metro." He walked on ahead, not having to tell them to stay behind.

"You don't have to do this, Tim. You have nothing to prove."

"Never said I did."

"So why do it?"

"Like Gibbs said," he mumbled. "I've got to learn sometime."

"You can drop the macho act, McGee. Gibbs and Tony aren't here."

"Look, it's just something I need to do, Kate," he said. "I…I don't know. I can't explain it, so I won't even try. All I know is that I need to talk with her. Maybe…maybe if she sees me, she'll be more willing to talk. Maybe she'll give something away."

It was the truth, or at least half the truth. The other half—which Tim wasn't quite ready to say—was that he had to know for himself whether or not she was the guy they were looking for, figuratively speaking. And it wasn't just because he understood what she had gone through and what she was probably going through now; it was because deep in his gut, he still had his doubts, nagging at him unrelentingly.

If she was the killer, so be it; he'd let justice take its course. But if she wasn't…

"Come on," he said. "We probably should let her wait too long in there. Like Gibbs said; keep her off her game."


	29. Chapter 29

By the time Gibbs reached him, Detective Kelly's face could have rivaled a cherry in terms of color. A vein on his forehead had begun to protrude and his eyes shot daggers out at Gibbs. Washburn also looked peeved, but she exuded a far calmer exterior than her partner.

"What the hell is this, Gibbs?" Kelly spat. "Did I or did I not give you explicit instructions to call me the minute you tracked this woman down? Do you want to explain why I had to find out when the damn cop that pulled her over filed his report?"

"Sure, but how about first, you explain to me why you're divulging classified information to civilians!" Gibbs shot back.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kelly muttered, though his averted gaze belied his words.

"George Moore's son was asking me about my man, asking what the connection was between McGee and these victims, and the only reason he knew about that was you!"

"So what? They have a right to know what's going on."

"They aren't entitled to that information, and you know it! Now tell me why I shouldn't call up Metro and report that?"

"This wouldn't be an issue in the first place if you and your people were being more cooperative."

"Cooperative? We've been nothing but cooperative with you! Aside from not telling you about Frankel, we've told you everything while you've done all you could to freeze us out of the investigation."

Kelly scoffed. "You expect me to believe that your man has nothing more to tell us?"

"If he did, you would know it."

"I think he knows more than he's telling."

"And I think you're full of crap." Gibbs had already had his fill of the Metro detectives and with every passing second he had the urge to punch the man in the face. "I am done letting you badger my man."

"I want to talk to Frankel."

"She's our suspect. You guys are done with this case."

"That's not the way it works, Gibbs," Washburn said, stepping in front of her partner before he could respond with a stinging retort. "This is our case just as much as yours and if you try to shut us out we'll have no choice but to submit a formal complaint and have your charged with interfering with our case."

Gibbs wasn't sure if she could do such a thing—or if it would have any real effect on him—but he didn't think it was worth it to try and find out. Still, he wasn't about to just hand Frankel over to them on a silver platter. "We'll hand her over after we've had a chance to talk to her," he said, leaving no room for arguing. "If that's a problem for you, I'll go ahead and take my chances with your complaint and you can take your chances with mine."

"That's fine," Washburn said quickly. "But we would like to observe your interrogation."

"Not mine at the moment, but you can observe." Gibbs turned on his heel and walked back toward the interrogation room, leaving Tony to beckon the detectives to follow.

If Gibbs thought that

* * *

the sight of a female face would tame Vicki Frankel's ferocious energy, he was mistaken. When Kate entered the interrogation room, Vicki just glared, her upper lip turning upward into a pronounced sneer. "So the big boys are sending in their little obedient woman to do the rest of their dirty work. What? Did my strong femininity intimidate them? Did I emasculate them by not falling all over them and worshipping them as God's gift to women?"

"Oh, yes," Kate replied blandly, "they just scurried away with their tails between their legs."

"Tails? Is that what they're calling them these days?" Her eyes flickered to Tim, first disdainfully as she recognized that he, too, was a man and, therefore, worthy of her scorn. Then, familiarity glazed over her eyes and she studied him, trying to figure out how she knew him. "Samuel Chase High School," she said finally.

"Yeah. I'm Timothy McGee."

"Right…the computer geek. Weren't you the one they tossed into the pool?"

He winced. "That would be me."

"Huh. So they pulled you in here, too? Seems we both would have reasons for wanting those bastards dead."

"No," he said softly, "I work here. I'm a special agent."

Vicki's eyebrows shot up in obvious surprise. "Is that so? Guess you showed them, huh? Though, I can't believe you're actually helping them. I mean, do you really want to avenge their deaths? Does it really matter who killed them?"

"Every life is important."

She snorted, implying just what she thought about that. "Scum like that isn't important. The sooner they're gone, the better off for everyone else."

"What about Chris?"

"You mean your so-called friend? The one who sold you out to _them_?" she asked, gesturing to the pictures.

"How do you even know about that?"

"Oh, please! Everyone knew about it. You think those punks weren't telling everyone, letting people know that they'd gotten one geek to double-cross another? And what did it get him? A week without getting pummeled? Two weeks? A month at the most, I'm sure. Not worth stooping to their level."

Tim's face grew red. He was angry at her for speaking ill of his friend, but he had to agree with her on that much. No matter how much the bullies would have offered him for his help in making someone else's life hell, it wouldn't have been worth it.

It didn't mean Chris had deserved to be killed.

He reached into a folder he'd been clutching to his chest and withdrew two printouts which he laid on the table before her. "These entries were taken from your LiveJournal."

She glanced at them with utter disinterest. "So? I've got a LiveJournal. Big whoop. Last I checked, that wasn't a crime."

"These depict your state of mind," Kate said. "They show your anger towards men, especially bullies. This proves intent to murder them."

"I didn't murder anyone!" she snarled. "These don't prove anything! All they prove is that I've opened my eyes to what most men are."

"And what is that?"

"Pests. Vermin. Parasites. They prey on the weak and use them until there's nothing more to get out of them, and then toss them to the side like garbage."

"Do you deny that you wrote these?" she asked, pushing the printouts toward her once again.

"No, I don't deny it! I'm proud of it! I hope people are reading it and understanding it!"

"Then can we assume these entries are your confessions to the murders?"

"You can shove it up your ass! Those entries have nothing to do with these deaths. Don't misunderstand; I'm glad they're dead and I'd love to shake hands with the person who did it, but I can't take credit for it."

"So what were you talking about in these entries? Who were you referring to when you wrote, 'He never saw it coming. Just like the others, he was so sure, so certain he was invincible. But no more.'?"

"That's none of your business. Now, let me out of here or get me a lawyer!"

Kate stood calmly and collected the printouts. "Should I assume you'd prefer a female lawyer?" she asked.

Vicki's only response was with a withering glare.

* * *

Kate and Tim were less than pleased to see Metro in the observation room, but also less than surprised. Detective Kelly ignored Kate and made a bee-line for Tim.

"So what're your thoughts, kid?"

"On what, sir?"

"On Frankel. What do you think I'm asking about?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Did she do it or didn't she?"

"I'm not a lie detector."

"She's your friend."

"No," he said coldly, "she's not. We went to the same school; we were never friends. And to be honest, after seeing what kind of person she's become, I'm glad we weren't."

"She's the only one with a connection to all of the deceased. Well," Tony added, "the only one without an alibi. That's good enough for me."

"Seems pretty open and shut," Detective Washburn said.

Gibbs turned his attention to Tim, sensing the young man's hesitance to voice his agreement. "McGee?"

"I don't know…it doesn't seem right."

"How so?"

"Well, we've been harboring under the belief that whoever was doing this, was doing it based on some obsession with me, right?" Gibbs nodded. "Well, Vicki barely even recognized me. She knew I'd gone to high school with her, but I don't think she even knew my name. Besides, based on her comments about the male population, I don't think she's interested in doing me any favors."

"Maybe we've just been looking at it the wrong way, then," Kate said. "Maybe it had nothing to do with you to begin with. Frankel admits that everyone knew about Chris' betrayal, and she obviously didn't think highly of him for it. Maybe this had nothing to do with you; it was just a way for her to battle her own demons."

It was a viable possibility and Tim knew it. In fact, he suddenly felt silly for having thought this had anything to do with him, other than being an unfortunate coincidence. She hadn't known he was working here, so how could she have known he would be the one to investigate Wickmar's murder?

"She wants a lawyer," Kate told them.

"Yeah, we heard that much," Tony said dourly. No one liked bringing lawyers into the picture, especially when the charge was murder. A good lawyer could make miracles happen. Luckily, she didn't have her own high paid lawyer, so the odds were against her on that.

"We can take it from here," Detective Kelly said. "We'll get the girl a lawyer and get things done nice and quick."

Gibbs intervened. "She stays here until we're finished. That was the deal."

"No, the deal was that you got to talk to her before we took her. You talked, she lawyered up, now it's our turn at bat. Better luck next time, Gibbs."

He pursed his lips into a deep frown, certain he would be victorious in this match against Metro. When they left an hour later, though, with Vicki Frankel in custody, Gibbs new he'd been beat. Director Morrow had done his best, but he knew to pick his battles carefully, and this one just wasn't worth winning.

"Figures," Tony grumbled. "We do all the leg work and, once again, Metro gets to take the credit."

"As long as the killer ends up behind bars, does it really matter who gets the glory?" Kate asked, though she, too, was annoyed that they had gotten so close, only to have Frankel snatched away from them.

"Well, at least we've still got all the possessions from her car. We'll take our own sweet time getting that over to Metro. It's only fair, what with us waiting as long as we have for the stuff they picked up from the last two crime scenes." But even as Tony said it, he knew it was a hollow victory. Metro didn't give two hoots about Frankel's possessions when they had Frankel herself in custody.

Gibbs sauntered into the bullpen, none too happy with the recent turn of events. It was late and they'd had an early start that day; no point in hanging around any longer. "Go home," he said. "Nothing more to get done today."

The trio exchanged looks of surprise; it was rare when Gibbs let them go before a perp was behind bars. Tony, though, wasn't going to ask twice. "Any need for me to come in tomorrow?" With Frankel in Metro custody he was unsure whether or not they would pursue to case.

"Whatever you think you need to do," was Gibbs' answer.

As Tony pulled on his jacket, Kate and Tim remained in their seats, neither really wanting to leave just yet. "Going out, Tony?" Kate asked as she saw him check himself in the mirror.

"Thought I'd try to salvage what was left of the Friday night. Why? Want to join me?" he asked with a teasing wiggle of his eyebrows.

"I'll pass," she said. She did, however, begin grabbing her own coat. She wanted to stay, but what was the point? There was nothing else for them to do. "I'll come in tomorrow," she promised. "Maybe fresh eyes will help."

Gibbs turned to Tim who hadn't moved from his seat. "McGee, go. You don't have to bunker down at my place tonight. I'm sure Kate will be nice enough to give you a ride home."

"If it's all the same to you, boss, I'd rather stick around for a while."

Gibbs wanted to demand that Tim head home and get some rest, but he couldn't. It was late, but not late enough to go to bed. That would leave Tim with three or so hours of just sitting awake, mulling over the recent days' events. Better that he sit there and try to get work done than just mope around the apartment not doing anything.

"Okay," he consented. "You get tired, though, I'll drive you home."

Tim nodded glumly. He wanted to be happy. He didn't care if it was NCIS or Metro that put the killer away, as long as she was put away. But something about it was gnawing at him. Something didn't feel right.

Tony and Kate rode the elevator down together. "Think McGee is going to be okay?" Kate asked.

"He's got spunk in him. He should be fine. It'll just take a while."

She nodded. "I'm just glad we got her before she was able to strike again."

The doors opened on the ground floor and they stepped out. "So what are you up to tonight, Tony?"

"The bars. See if I can't pick up a sweet little thing," he said, his smile all teeth. "Blonde, brunette, redhead. I'm open to all different kinds."

Kate rolled her eyes. "I'm sure this goes without saying, but stay away from blue-haired women."


	30. Chapter 30

Tony pulled his Mustang into the parking lot of The Rat Pack, a bar in Old Town that was meant to recreate the atmosphere of the 1960's. The bartenders and wait staff were dressed as various 60's movie stars and celebrities (and were often called upon to perform as well), paraphernalia from the decade decorated the walls, and Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin could be heard crooning from the speakers, creating the perfect ambience.

He noticed the appreciative look his ride got from the female patrons as they entered and exited the bar. Of course, he was sure they were likely just as appreciative of him.

"Tony," greeted the bartender, a dead ringer for Sammy Davis, Jr. with a singing voice to match. He always worked the Friday shift and had come to know Tony by name. "Your usual?"

"For starters, Sammy," he said with a nod. Minutes later, a dry martini was set in front of him, a single olive floating along the bottom. "And good catches tonight?"

Sammy laughed. "None you'd want to catch. The night is still young, though. I'm sure a cat like you will find a nice bird to take home."

"You make me sound like a predator stalking prey." Though even as Tony said it, a wide smile spread across his face, making him look not unlike Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat.

"I've seen the way you operate, Tony. Most women don't stand a chance when you're on the prowl."

Tony took a sip of the martini, letting his eyes scan across the bar. Sammy hadn't been kidding; the pickings were slim. There was a group of college boys (boys who were too young to even know who the Rat Pack was) playing pool while a couple of girls cheered them on. The girls were cute, but much too young for Tony's taste. One had to be careful not to cross any lines. The rest of the patrons reached the opposite end of the spectrum; they were old enough to have remembered the 1960's first hand. Definitely not what he was looking for.

But, as Sammy had said, the night was young.

"Here," he said, flipping Sammy a quarter. "Put something jazzy on the jukebox. Something with a little more kick." Within seconds, Nat King Cole blasted over the speakers with his rendition of "L-O-V-E." Tony grinned and downed more of his drink; this was his kind of night.

* * *

Gibbs glanced across the bullpen and held back a sigh. Tim was still sitting at his desk, looking through the accumulated evidence and photos. By Gibbs' count, he'd gone through them no fewer than three times since Tony and Kate had left, but he seemed no closer to solving anything. Maybe there was nothing left for them to solve.

Vicki seemed like the perfect suspect. Angry. Fitting the profile. No alibi. It should have felt open and shut. But it wasn't.

"You can go home, McGee."

"It's okay." Even as he said the words, Tim was rubbing his eyes. "Besides, I don't have my car here. Figured I'd just pull an all-nighter."

"McGee, you don't have to impress anyone. I'll call you a cab and give you money for the fare if you need it."

Tim almost laughed. He could only imagine the taxi fare he'd rack up in a ride from the Navy Yard to Silver Springs. "It's not that, boss. I…it just doesn't feel right. You know?"

Gibbs did know. He'd practically made his career based on gut instincts, so far be it from him to disregard the instincts of a member of his team, even if the evidence said otherwise.

"I know Dan and Steve and Brian weren't the nicest of guys, and Principal Moore didn't help. And sure, Chris made his mistakes. But…but I still feel like I owe it to them to put the right person behind bars. If it turns out that Vicki's our killer, so be it. But I'm not just going to roll over so quickly."

"Well, okay then." Gibbs had to admire Tim's gumption. "Need a refill?" he asked, gesturing to Tim's coffee cup.

"No, I'm fine. I just feel like I'm missing something."

Gibbs nodded, standing to retrieve another cup for himself. "Well, you keep looking. Let me know if you want a fresh pair of eyes."

Tim made a noncommittal murmur before diving back into the notes. He looked at the reports from Ducky and the Metro ME. He looked at the gruesome pictures of the bodies. He read the forensic reports, carefully studying each word.

Something didn't feel right.

"McGee!"

He jumped, nearly knocking the file of pictures and papers off his desk. Abby was sprinting toward him, an impressive feat considering the height of her platform boots. Her pigtails flounced around as she jumped up and down excitedly. "Where's Gibbs?"

"He went for more coffee. What did you find? Something good?"

"I don't know if I'd call it good, but Vicki's laptop definitely yielded some interesting results."

"You got through?"

"Of course. Sure, it took longer than usual, but I've got skills."

After much consideration, Gibbs' had decided to hand the laptop over to Abby for investigation. His reasoning had been that he needed Tim's skills elsewhere, but the truth was that he'd been afraid that, if Vicki _was_ their psycho, some of the contents on her laptop wouldn't be something he'd want Tim to stumble across. Who knew what sick pictures and video she may have taken as mementos of her handwork?

Abby grabbed the clicker and brought up e-mails on the plasma. "I think I know why Vicki left her last job. Turns out, she and her boss, Morgan Jameson, were seeing each other. The e-mails started about a year ago. Brace yourself; they get pretty explicit."

Tim raised an eyebrow as he looked through the e-mail exchanges; explicit was putting it mildly. "What about phone calls?"

"Nothing on his phone, but I found a past charge to his credit card for a pre-paid cell phone, and he made more than one call to her using that."

"So they were in a relationship. What went wrong?"

"Well, I don't claim to be an expert on relationships, but I find that they're generally hard to maintain when one person has a wife."

"Jameson was married?"

"Yup, and his father-in-law owned the company. He's worth millions, so Jameson had a lot reasons to not want to divorce her."

"Did Vicki know that?"

"Oh, she knew. Jameson pulled the whole, 'I'm going to leave her soon' routine for a good three months. Then Vicki started to get demanding. She threatened to go to the wife."

"And he didn't much like that, I'll bet."

"Nope. He made her leave the company."

"He fired her?"

"Not quite. That would make the company liable for a lawsuit, and he'd have to give a good reason for firing her. Instead, he made it impossible for her to stay. He started spreading rumors about her through the company and even sent a few 'private photos' around to other employees. No one could trace it back to him, of course, but it's hard to imagine who else would have had those kinds of pictures."

Tim winced. "He made her look like the desperate, loose women, effectively stripping her of any dignity and respect she may have had with her co-workers." Suddenly, he felt a twinge of pity for his former classmate. No wonder she was so angry at everything and everyone. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, but it doesn't end there! Vicki decided to turn it around on him. She sent pictures to his wife, along with a full confession of the affair. After that, she decided to become a sort of crusader for other cuckold wives."

"A cuckold is the male whose spouse cheats on him, Abbs; I think you mean cuckquean, the female equivalent."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, McGee." Abby clicked again and brought up pictures, all depicting Vicki in various states of intimacy with different men. Accompanying each picture was a small blurb with a name (presumably the man's name) and a date. "Each picture shows her with a married man. She would seduce them, and then, while they had sex, take pictures and even some video. She sent those to their wives along with a letter, much like the one she sent to Mrs. Jameson. It was her way of getting back at the cheating men."

Tim frowned. This certainly explained a lot. It explained the entries in her LiveJournal and the things she had said in interrogation. But it didn't prove her innocence in the murders. "What does this mean?"

"What does what mean?" Gibbs had reentered, fresh cup of coffee in hand, and interest piqued upon seeing Abby there.

"Looks like Frankel may have a few other things to be guilty about, Gibbs."

"Like what?"

While Abby filled him in on the contents of the laptop, Kate's phone began to ring. Normally Tim wouldn't take it upon himself to answer her phone, but under the circumstances he imagined it would be in the best interest to snoop. If the call was pertinent to the case, they needed to know. "Agent Todd's desk."

"Hi, is this Agent Kate Todd?" The person on the other end spoke with a pointed weariness and it was evident that her nose was stopped up, especially as she sniffled and coughed between words.

"This is her colleague. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, this is Sandy Boer. I work at Lena's Hair and Nails, the salon in Alexandria. I'm sorry, I've got a bad head cold, so I was asleep for most of the day, but I got a call from my supervisor telling me that Agent Todd had called about our fiberglass nail treatments." A cough before she continued. "That's my specialty. It's hard to make a living because so few women shell out the money to get it, but some of them just can't get the regular nails. Luckily, they don't pay me by the customer, but the tips help."

Tim was losing his patience. For someone who sounded so sick, this women certainly wasn't running out of steam. "Miss Boer, I'm sorry, but we're kind of busy at the moment. Is there some message I can leave for Agent Todd."

"Oh, yes! She'd asked about any women who had gotten the fiberglass treatment recently."

"And?" he prompted, his heart skipping a beat.

Sandy paused, this time to blow her nose. "Yes, I've got about three regulars and they've all gotten the treatment within the past few weeks."

He grabbed a pen and paper. "Do you have their names and numbers?"

"I don't know about numbers. One is my best friend Lisa Patterson. I don't have her number handy, but I could call back. The second is the wife of some politician. Jane Wyck, I think her name is? She's ancient, but she gives great tips."

"Uh-huh," he said as he wrote the names. "The third?"

"Well, I don't exactly have her name. I mean, she never makes appointments; she just walks in. Of course, I always have an opening to squeezer her in. Like I said, the fiberglass isn't very popular."

"Could you give me a description of her?" he asked, pushing her back on topic.

"Blonde, medium height, kind of cute, I guess." Well, that didn't exactly narrow it down.

"How does she pay? Has she ever used a credit card?"

"No. Just cash." Tim's heart sunk. "But I remember one time when she came in and I was trying to make small talk. I asked her about her ring and she said she'd made it herself. I guess she makes jewelry or something. She promised to make me a pair of earrings, but that was a few months back. I don't feel like reminding her; she's not exactly the sweetest girl."

"Anything else?"

Sandy was silent, though Tim could hear her belabored breathing and wheezing on the other end. "Oh! She came in once with one of those nameplate necklaces. You know, the ones that spell out a person's name in gold cursive? Anyway, I think her name was, like…it started with an 'I' and sounded kind of old fashioned or foreign or something. Definitely different."

"Do you remember the last time she came in for the fiberglass nails?"

"Yeah…it was three weeks ago, on the 5th. I remember because it was my birthday and the other girls pitched in to buy me a cake. She acted like a little shrew because I asked if she would mind me finishing my piece of cake before working on her. I would have kicked her out, but it's against our policy to turn away paying customers. Plus, she tips really well."

Tim finished up the conversation, thanking Sandy and wishing her good health before hanging up to fill in Gibbs and Abby.

"A jewelry maker?" Abby asked with interest. "That would explain the hydrochloric acid I found. She probably uses it when she treats the metal to shape it."

"Miss Boer said she specifically remembers this woman wearing a nameplate necklace with a name beginning with an 'I,'" Tim added. "Vicki doesn't start with an 'I,' boss."

"That doesn't mean anything," Gibbs said.

"She could have been wearing someone else's necklace," Abby said. "My cousin June always used to steal my monogrammed necklaces to wear."

"Or she could have been using an assumed name when she went to get her nails done," Gibbs added.

And that's when it hit Tim, what had been bugging him since they'd brought Vicki in. "Boss, she was biting her nails."

"Who, McGee?"

"Vicki! She was biting them when we interrogated her. They were jagged and bitten, practically down to the nubs."

"Your point?"

"Why would someone who regularly shells out big bucks for professionally done nails bite them like that?"

"Ew," Abby said, nodding in agreement. "And who'd want to bite them if they're made of fiberglass? That's so unhealthy!"

"Okay," Gibbs groaned, "but we still have no proof that our killer was even getting these treatments."

"The fiberglass Ducky found in the wounds?" Tim suggested.

"Circumstantial. Wouldn't even stand up in court. You've got to give me something more, McGee."

Tim nodded, knowing Gibbs was right. But in his gut, he knew this was the answer they'd been searching for. The pieces of the puzzle were finally starting to fall into place.

"I'll get on it," he said, making a bee-line for his computer. The mystery woman was a jewelry maker whose name likely began with an 'I'. That should narrow things down a bit.

"I'll call Kate and DiNozzo in," Gibbs said. "Hopefully neither of them have gotten too comfortable tonight."

While Tim began his search, Gibbs dialed Kate's number, curtly telling her to get back to NCIS and that he'd expect to see her there in twenty minutes. Then, he dialed Tony's number, frowning when the phone rang well beyond three rings (the normal amount of rings it took for Tony to pick up). His frown deepened when he was transferred to voicemail. It wasn't like Tony to be unreachable, even when with a woman. Gibbs could only imagine how pretty this one was to have captured his attention.

"DiNozzo, get your ass out of bed now. I want to see you here in half an hour. No excuses."

* * *

"I'll buy you another drink," a voice cooed in his ear.

Tony didn't look up from his glass. He was almost done with the first martini, but had yet to find a suitable woman for the night. Now it looked like his luck was about to change. "That's a bit backwards, isn't it? The woman buying the man a drink?"

"It's the 60's, man," the woman said with a giggle. "Women are coming into their own. Now how about that drink?"

He threw back the glass, downing the rest of the drink, then turned to face his suitor. She was a blonde, her hair voluminous, with soft, wispy bangs hanging down along her forehead. Her lips were an understated neutral color while her eyes were surrounded by long, dark lashes, almost reminiscent of a kewpie doll. She wore a white button-up blouse (the top few buttons of which were undone, giving onlookers a nice peek at her cleavage), paired with a black, leather mini skirt and black thigh-high boots. She was obviously going for the Bridgette Bardot look, and was succeeding with flying colors.

"I suppose I could swallow my male pride long enough to enjoy a drink from a lovely lady. But only if it includes the company of said lovely lady."

Her smile revealed pearly-white teeth. "I wouldn't have it any other way." She turned to Sammy, telling him, "Another one of whatever he had and I'll take a Manhattan"

"Yes, ma'am." Sammy gave Tony a sly wink before going to make the drinks.

The woman slipped onto the stool beside Tony, crossing her right leg over her left and giving Tony just a glimpse of what was hiding beneath the hem of her skirt. "It's not every night I run into a handsome man."

"Careful," he said with a smirk. "Flattery will get you anything."

She leaned over, her lips inches from his ear, and whispered, "I should hope so."

Tony could feel his libido stirring. _Careful, DiNozzo_, he warned himself. _Let's not take off too quickly. You've only just met her_. Still, he couldn't deny she made a pretty picture; he could imagine her being just as pretty the next morning in bed.

Just as that thought entered his mind, his phone began to vibrate. Fantastic. "Sorry," he muttered, fumbling the get the phone out.

But she was having none of it. The woman gently took the phone from him and placed it on the bar next to her. "It's Friday, doll. The work week is over. Time to relax. Unless you'd rather talk to someone else." She placed her hands on either side of the stool, as if threatening to move on to another man, presumably one who would give her the attention she craved.

"No, no," he said quickly. "You're right; it's Friday." Who could possibly be calling him at this time anyway? Anything they had to say could wait until tomorrow at least.

When their drinks arrived, he took his and lifted it, as though he were proposing a toast. "And does this beautiful woman have a name, or do I have to guess?"

The woman lifted her own glass and gently circled it, watching the mixture of whiskey and sweet vermouth slosh within. "Oh, you can just call me Angel."


	31. Chapter 31

Kate made it to NCIS well within her given time limit. She hadn't even made it home, opting to grab a bite to eat at a nice Italian place a couple blocks down. She had just received her plate of veal and pasta when Gibbs had called. In her hands she carried a box containing her interrupted dinner.

"What's happened?" she asked, placing her things at her desk.

"Got a call from your last nail salon and may have gotten a lead," Gibbs said.

"One that points away from Frankel?"

While Abby explained the new developments to Kate, Tim had gotten a list of local jewelry businesses registered in the area and had also searched for unregistered ones, including those who dealt exclusively via websites like Café Press and Ebay. He brought the results up to the plasma out as they spoke.

Gibbs peeked over Tim's shoulder. "What've you got, McGee?"

"Well, there's a bundle of jewelry makers in the area, most of them female. I found a few with 'I' names: two Irenes, three Isabellas, an Ida, two Ilsas, an Imogene, and an Isis.

Gibbs studied the list, paying particular attention to the aforementioned names. "Isabella isn't an unusual name and I figure Irene is common enough that Ms. Boer would probably remember it. Ida, Ilsa, Imogene, and Isis seem more likely to be our killer, assuming it's one of them."

"Exactly what I was thinking, boss," Tim said with a nod. "I think we can eliminate Ida and one of the Ilsas; records show both women as being in their seventies. If they can pass themselves off as the woman in that footage, their plastic surgeons deserve an award."

"And the others?"

"Uh, I guess I should try to get in touch with them?" Tim suggested.

"Well, get to it."

Kate—having been fully briefed by Abby—came up behind the two of them and looked over the search results on the plasma. "Imogene Schultz?"

"Yeah," Tim said, "she sells her jewelry over the internet and through local catalogues."

"Is there a picture of her somewhere?"

Tim clicked around on the computer, then looked up with a frown. "No, but it's unlikely we'd be able to match her to the video footage of the suspect even if we did; it's too hazy."

"No, it's not that. The name sounds familiar."

"Familiar? You mean like an old friend of yours?"

Kate shook her head. "Didn't we have a case involving someone by that name?"

"Doubt it," Abby said. "Gibbs always remembers the names of our criminals."

"I don't mean as a criminal; I mean as a witness. I distinctly remember talking to someone named Imogene, but I don't remember her last name."

"You remember which case?"

She paused as she racked her brain. "Roger Martin, Troy Austin, and Wendy Holbrook," she said finally. "The Marine privates who were suspected of embezzling funds. Martin and Holbrook were caught, but Austin disappeared, presumably with the money. It hasn't been seen since and neither of the other two know where it is."

"And Ms. Schultz's part in this?"

"She was Austin's ex-girlfriend. They broke up a couple of days before the embezzlements were discovered."

"McGee, pull the file."

Tim went through the files of previous cases. "Austin, Holbrook, and Martin," he said, pulling it up on the plasma. "It's from almost seven months ago." It had been one of his first cases on the team so he hadn't been given as much to do as the others, but now that he had been reminded about it, things were starting to come back.

Gibbs looked over the documents. "No picture of Ms. Schultz, I take it?"

"None."

"It says _you_ interviewed her, though. Remember what she looked like?"

He didn't, really. He'd been so intent on not screwing anything up that he hadn't paid much attention to her looks. "Blonde, I guess. Shorter than me with a medium build."

"Could be our perp," Kate said.

"Yeah, so could about ten dozen other women in the area. We need more than that." Gibbs looked at the clock, his mouth twisted in anger. "Where the hell is DiNozzo?"

* * *

At that time, Tony was seated near the back of the club, sharing a private booth with Angel. She was still working on her first drink as he finished up his second. Sammy was keeping them stocked with appetizers, but gave them enough space to enjoy themselves.

"So you're a federal agent?" she asked in a breathy tone. "That's fascinating."

"Well, I like to do my part," he said in an attempt to be modest.

"Any interesting cases lately?"

"Oh, sure."

"Like what?"

Tony liked her—he liked her quite a bit and could easily imagine enjoying her company in a more carnal activity—but he wasn't about to divulge that information. "You know, normal criminal stuff. Murders, kidnappings, robberies. The usual."

"Anyone in particular that you're hunting?"

He raised his eyebrows, not sure what to think of her overwhelming curiosity. "Interested in criminology?"

She smiled. "Something like that."

Their next round of drinks arrived. Angel took her Bloody Mary and clinked the glass against his. "I don't think I've had this much fun with a man in a while."

This time Tony didn't bother with modesty. The alcohol was starting to take effect. "I get that a lot."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," she purred. Beneath the table she tried to get a rousing game of footsie going. "I'll bet you were an athlete in college."

"Guilty." He took a long gulp of the drink. "Football and basketball mostly. Sometimes baseball."

"Well, I am just wild for a football man. All of those muscular guys, running back and forth…wearing those tight pants and working up a nice sweat."

"I've got pictures at home if you're interested."

Her hand fell upon his leg, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Oh, I'm interested."

Tony was certain Gibbs had a sixth sense about when Tony was minutes away from sealing the deal, because at that moment his phone rang once more and Gibbs' name was displayed on the screen. He groaned and reached for it; if Gibbs called twice in this amount of time something had to be up.

"I'd better take this."

But her hands were quicker than his, especially with the amount of booze he'd consumed. "Nonsense. We're having a great time. The work day is over, like you said."

"Yeah, I know," he said, rubbing at his eyes, "but you don't know my boss. H doesn't like when I don't answer."

"Well, bully for him."

"It'll be quick. He probably just wants to give me a SitRep on our current case."

Angel was having none of it. She held the phone away from it, placing her chest against his. "Please," she said with a pout. "It's been ages since I had this much fun. Let's just enjoy it by ourselves."

It could have been any number of things that made Tony do what he did next. It could have been that his companion was gorgeous and obviously willing. It could have been that he was annoyed to have his Friday evening interrupted for the hundredth time since joining NCIS. Or it could have been that the alcohol was clouding his better judgment.

"Okay, okay," he agreed. "I'll call them back tomorrow. Now can I have my phone back?" he asked, holding out his hand.

But she pulled it away. "Not yet. You'll get it back when you've been a good boy. In fact, I'll just turn it off so you won't be tempted." She flipped it open and switched it off, then placed it on the table beside her.

"So what will I have to do to get it back?" he asked.

Angel leaned in, her lips inches from his. "I can think of a few things…" With that, she grasped his head and pulled him in for a long, hard kiss.

Gone from his mind were any thoughts of Gibbs and NCIS. He was putty in her hands.

* * *

Gibbs slammed the phone down. Voicemail again. "Damn it, DiNozzo!"

Abby frowned with worry. "It's not like him to not answer the phone, no matter how pretty the girl is."

"McGee!" Gibbs barked.

"Yeah, boss! I've been looking into Schultz's background. She grew up in a rural area of Fairfax County. Her father was a welder and her mother an artist who sold pieces at local craft fairs. They both died seven years ago in a car crash when driving home from a church fair in Berkshire."

"What about Schultz?"

"After high school she worked for her father. She met Austin about four years ago while she was selling jewelry at a kiosk in Crystal City mall. They started dating and moved in together a few months later."

"She say what led to the break-up?"

Tim briefly glanced at the notes from his interview. "She claimed he was verbally abusive and treated her like a maid. She also called him a…well…let's just say she didn't care for him."

"Fits the profile," Kate said. "Angry, wronged by a man, possibly a bit reclusive."

"It still doesn't explain the connection to McGee. Did she go to your high school?"

Tim checked. "No," he said with a frown, "she went to a public school Fairfax. No connection to any of our victims."

"Just to you," Gibbs finished. "But why?"

"Did you talk to her about the bullying in high school?" Kate asked. "Maybe as a way of connecting to her?"

He shook his head. "I just asked her about her ex-boyfriend."

"Did she seem off to you?"

"Not really…well…I mean, I think she may have liked me," he admitted with a light blush. "She, uh, slipped me her number after we spoke. But I never called her."

"Wait, wait, wait," Abby said, holding her hands up. "Is this the one that gave Tony the cold shoulder? He told me about her! Said she was falling all over you, McGee."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You're just telling us about this now, McGee?" Gibbs asked angrily.

"I didn't think anything of it, boss! Besides, how could she have known about my bullies?"

"How she knows doesn't mean anything, McGee; if she's our killer she must have found out somehow! I want to know how!"

It was an answer Tim couldn't give. "Well, after she and Austin broke up, she moved out of the apartment and back to her childhood home. She'd retained it as a workplace for her crafts."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Gibbs grabbed the keys to the Sedan.

"Uh, boss, it's pretty late. If she's home, she may be asleep."

"And if she's the person we're looking for she may be getting her kicks by torturing someone else. Now get going."

The three of them grabbed their gear and made for the elevator, leaving a concerned Abby in their wake. "Be careful!" she called out as the doors closed on them.

* * *

It was strange for Tony to feel so lightheaded so soon into his Friday night activities. He wasn't a lightweight, but into his third drink he felt his mind going fuzzy. "It's getting late," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"Late?" Angel threw her head back with laughter. "It's only 10:45. For me, that's just the start of the night."

Tony managed a feeble laugh. "Yeah…normally I'd say the night is young, but, I don't know. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

Angel leaned against him, resting her chin atop his shoulder. "Maybe the nurse should take you home and tuck you in."

"Mm." The thought of her donning a little white nurse's uniform entered his mind and made him smile. "Could be just what the doctor ordered."

"I can give you lots of TLC," she said, her hand running along the back of his neck.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Oh, I'd have to surprise you, but I'm sure I could think up something good enough."

He suppressed a yawn and blinked to keep his eyelids up. He couldn't nod off now. "Your place or mine?"

"Let's get in the car and see where we go from there."

Angel slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled against him, grabbing his arm and pulling it over her shoulders. Tony was able to hold himself up mostly, but he leaned on her a little more than he liked. As they moseyed out, he managed a nod to Sammy. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "I'll just put you in the passenger's seat, doll."

"I'd rather drive…I don't really like other people driving my car." His words were beginning to slur. "It's just a paranoia thing I've got."

"Oh, I'm sure I understand," she said as she buckled him in. "You men with your car obsessions. I promise not to hurt it. Now you just sit tight and we'll get you in a nice, warm bed soon enough."

It was a testament to his weariness that Tony didn't fight the subject. Instead, he lay back in his seat and let his eyelids fall. "Sounds good."

Angel revved up the car, feeling it purr beneath her. "Sweetie, you have no idea."


	32. Chapter 32

It wasn't a short drive to the home of Imogene Schultz, but the late hour meant that the streets were less crowded, making the ride all the quicker for them. Gibbs was at the wheel with Kate riding shotgun (attempting to shovel in quick bites of her meal) and Tim in the back.

"Do you think we should call Metro and bring them up to speed?" Kate asked, picking at her pasta. She already knew what Gibbs would say to that.

"I think we've had more than enough of Metro for today. It won't kill them to find out tomorrow."

"Gibbs, do you really want to do that? I mean, you can only piss them off so many times before it comes back to bite you in the ass. And besides, shouldn't they know that they might be interrogating the wrong woman?"

"They asked for Frankel, and they got her." His tone made it clear that the conversation was over. He didn't want to hear another word about Metro for the rest of the night.

But Lady Luck was not on his side that night. His phone jingled in his pocket as they barreled down the freeway. "Yeah, Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs." He soured as he immediately recognized the voice of Detective Kelly. "I thought you should know that after consulting with her lawyer, Vicki Frankel admitted to something, but it wasn't murder."

"She was seducing married men and sending proof of their infidelities to their wives."

There was a tense pause on the other end. It was like music to his ears. "Now how the hell did you know that?"

"It's called investigating. You should try it sometime."

"Then I take it you can verify her story?"

"We can, but it doesn't mean she's not our killer."

"You're right, it doesn't," Detective Kelly agreed guardedly, "but I get the feeling you've already discounted her as a suspect."

"Now why would you think that?"

"I've got a sixth sense about this kind of thing," he replied gruffly. "Now what's going on?"

"Frankel isn't off our suspect list yet, but, seeing as you've taken it upon yourself to handle her for us, we've decided to focus our efforts elsewhere."

"And just where would that be?" he asked as a car horn blared loudly behind them. "Are you on your way somewhere?"

Gibbs couldn't help but smile in spite of himself; it was nice to have the upper hand for once. "Oh, just paying a visit to a possible suspect, but we can handle it ourselves. Better luck next time, though."

"Gibbs, you son of a bi—"

He didn't hear the rest of Detective Kelly's expletive as he flipped the phone closed, but he could imagine what the other man was calling him. He'd certainly been called worse.

Kate rolled her eyes. "I think you just like being difficult."

"Sometimes." He glanced in the rearview and saw Tim who was working as their navigator. "McGee, where are we going from here?"

"Uh, take the next exit. Then, take the first right and keep going straight."

Gibbs' phone came alive once again as he pulled off the freeway. Metro again, he was sure. This time he wasn't going to be quite so pleasant. He snapped the phone up and snarled, "Look, if you want us to catch this scumbag, you can help by not interfering!"

"Hey, man! I'm not trying to interfere with anything!"

He furrowed his brow and checked the screen of the phone. It said that the call was coming from Tony's phone, but that definitely wasn't Tony. "DiNozzo?"

"No. I mean, yeah, this is his phone, but I'm not him."

"So who are you?" If this guy had stolen Tony's phone, he was the worst thief Gibbs had ever met. What kind of thief called one of the numbers on a phone he'd stolen?

"I work at The Rat Pack."

"The what?"

"It's a club. Sinatra, Martin, Sammy, you know?"

"And what has that got to do with Tony DiNozzo?"

"Well, he was just here. He's a regular. But he left his phone. I found it when I was clearing off the table. When I turned it back on, I saw that he'd gotten a bunch of calls from this number, so I thought I'd give you a call. Maybe you could let him know he'd left it here."

Gibbs was still focused on one part of that explanation. "When you turned it on? You mean the phone was off?" That was a red flag right there. After four years working for Gibbs, Tony knew better than to turn his phone off.

"Yeah, man. So, should I drop the phone off with you or something?"

"Look, can you tell me how long ago he left?"

"About half an hour, I guess. Maybe a little more. Things got busy; I wasn't really watching the clock."

"Did he leave by himself?"

"Nah, he had a chick with him. But, hey, that was nothing new for Tony."

Gibbs let out a choice curse word. "Do you know if his car is still in the parking lot?"

"No, it's definitely gone."

"You're sure?"

The man laughed. "I know Tony's Mustang. Hard to miss a sweet car like that."

So Tony was now AWOL, so to speak, and not only had he left his phone behind, but it had been turned off. Add to that the fact that he was seen leaving with an attractive woman and it made Gibbs' gut churn. "What's your name?"

"Sammy."

"Look, Sammy, I'm going to send someone by this club to talk to you. I want you to give her a detailed description of the woman Tony left with, along with any video footage inside and outside the club.

"Uh, you mean like a cop or something? Should I be worried?"

"No. Just look for the Goth girl."

"Goth girl?"

"You'll know her when you see her."

When he hung up, Kate was looking at him with concern. "Tony's in trouble?"

"When is he not in trouble?" He jested, of course, but inside he was just as worried about Tony's well-being as anyone.

He wasted no time in getting Abby on the phone. "Abbs, I want you to find some club called The Rat Pack. Get down there and talk to one of the workers named Sammy. He's going to give you a description of the woman DiNozzo left with tonight. Get any security footage you can, too."

She was quick to jump on the key points of Gibbs' request, namely that it involved Tony somehow. "Tony? Why? What's wrong?"

"Abbs, I don't know if anything's happened at all. Just do this, okay?"

"Okay," she said with a resigned sigh, but she wasn't about to let it go so easily. "You tell me the minute you find something, though. The _minute_, Gibbs!"

"I will," he promised before hanging up. Both Kate and Tim looked at him expectantly, wanting to know what had happened, but he kept his poker face. There was no point in getting them worried. "McGee, where do I go from here?"

"Boss, you'll need to take the next left," Tim chimed from the back. He then braced himself as the car made a sharp swerve, nearly running off the road in the process, if it could be called a road at all. Gone were the paved roads and street lamps; they had been replaced by a rockier course and absolute darkness; they had only the headlights of the car to illuminate the path ahead.

"She's not much of a city girl," Gibbs muttered. "Likes her privacy."

"Makes sense if she tortured three men in her home," Kate said. "I doubt anyone would have heard them screaming all the way out here. She could have been going at them for hours with no one the wiser."

Tim shivered at the thought. He didn't want to imagine what was done to those men…and them screaming with no hope of anyone ever hearing anything. If the states of the bodies were any indication, it had been a long, horrid experience for them. This wooded area seemed like the perfect place for it. It was the kind of thing good horror stories were made of.

But this wasn't just a story; this was real, and that made it all the more terrifying.

* * *

He is still unconscious.

She watches him lie there, breathing in a slow, easy pattern, body relaxed and limp. Not a care in the world.

She hates him even more for it.

He's already prepared, of course. Rope is looped around each wrist and ankle and tied to the metal framework of the bed, pressing him spread-eagle down into the mattress. She was even nice enough to prop a pillow under his head. At least make him comfortable for now. The comfort won't last for long.

This will be her greatest triumph. After this, Tim will have no choice but to notice her. And he will love her…she knows he will.

He lets out a soft, guttural moan. He's starting to come to.

She smiles.

* * *

The car finally emerged from the woods and pulled up along the gravel road. They all saw the one-story house situated before them. It was hard for a house to look ominous, but this one loomed before them like a giant, looking all the more frightening with the starless blanket of darkness framing it.

"I'll go in through the front. You two take the back." Tim and Kate both nodded as they grabbed their gear.

While his two team members scurried around the house, Gibbs took a moment to scour the area. No sign of a car, but there was an adjacent barn with the door open. It was possible she used it as a garage.

He knocked on the door before announcing himself. "NCIS, Ms. Schultz. Open up." Only silence responded from within. He stepped back and kicked the door open. Sure, he could have just picked the lock, but that night he wanted to make a memorable entrance, even if their suspected killer wasn't there to see it.

Gibbs entered with gun and flashlight at eye level. At the entrance was a small foyer that led into the living room. In there was a couch that had seen better days and a television that was so old it still had the bunny-ear antennas on top and knobs along the bottom. On either side of the television were bookshelves, but they were practically empty, save for a collection of encyclopedias and a large dictionary. There were no personal touches to the room. No pictures or art work; nothing decorative or inviting. If he didn't know someone lived there, he's have thought it was an abandoned house.

To his right was a doorframe, sans the door. Inside he saw a kitchen with a gas stove, a fridge and freezer, and a small island in the center. But no one was in there.

Behind him he saw Kate and Tim enter, holding their guns and flashlights in a likewise manner. He nodded for them to check the door nearest to them; he went for the one directly across from it.

It was a small bedroom and had about as much ambience as the rest of the house. The sheets on the bed were mismatched and worn (though clean). The nightstand held a lamp and an alarm clock. The only glimpse into the psyche of the house's inhabitant came from the books that lined the shelf against the wall. Gibbs pulled on a pair of gloves before skimming through the collection.

Some were instruction books on the basics of welding and jewelry making and there were a couple of trashy romance novels with half-dressed men on the covers. There were also true crime books detailing famous killers from Jack the Ripper through Ted Bundy.

But the most revealing books were the large history books near the front of the shelf. They were detailed accounts of law enforcement, criminal justice, and torture techniques dating back to the Middle Ages. Based on how worn the pages were, someone had read those quite a few times.

Of course, that didn't mean she was guilty of anything other than having dark interests, but it piqued Gibbs' interest all the same.

"The house is clear." Kate was standing behind him, holstering her gun. "There's a bathroom and another bedroom. We think it's the master bedroom. You need to see it, Gibbs."

He replaced the books on the shelf and followed her across the way to the other bedroom. Tim was standing motionless in front of the bed, looking down at it. His face was white as a sheet. When Gibbs entered the room, he understood why.

"It's covered in blood," he said, shining his light along the sheets.

"It looks fresh," Tim said, his voice strained.

Gibbs ran his light down the bed and over the floor. He stopped as it ran across something that looked suspiciously like… "A finger?" he muttered as he leaned down to inspect it. Sure enough, it was a finger—a pinky, if Gibbs' guess was correct—and it was stained with blood.

"There's more," Kate said. She motioned to a camera on a tripod that was situated in the corner. A few tapes sat on the floor beside the tripod, each marked with a name. One was labeled "Wickmar" and another "Ashcroft."

For Gibbs there was no longer any doubt that they had found their killer.

"There's a barn out there," Gibbs said as he pulled out his phone. "Go check it out. Stay together. We don't know where Schultz is or what state of mind she's in."

Kate nodded, pulling Tim from the room as quickly as she could. Gibbs had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Tony was missing and their killer was still running loose. Could Schultz have witnessed something? Something Tony had done or said to Tim? Could she think he was now the bully in Tim's life?

Gibbs grimaced. Sure she could. This woman…her mind was a dangerous place. They needed reinforcements.

He retrieved the cell phone from his pocket and dialed an all-too-familiar number. He hated to do this, but he knew it was necessary.

"Detective Kelly. It's Gibbs. Don't talk; just listen. If you still want to help, I suggest you get down to Fairfax. Now."


	33. Chapter 33

Tony is teeter-tottering in and out of consciousness. He hears wisps of sounds, sees flashes of images, but he can't quite get a strong grip on anything.

He recalls the last things he saw before the darkness overcame him. He remembers Angel putting him in the passenger seat, even taking care to buckle him in. It could have been an effect of his cloudy mind, but he thinks he got a nice view of her breast when she leaned over him to attach the seatbelt. It's the last thing he remembers…after that it all went black.

His senses begin to trickle back in, like water through a sieve. He can't open his eyes, but he hears footsteps nearby. Someone else is there.

"Angel…that you?" he slurs.

No answer.

When he tries to sit up, he finds himself constrained to the bed. His arms and legs don't come higher than an inch or two off the mattress. He tries to lift his head, but it only increases the dizziness.

"Baby…are you there?"

His head snaps to the side as a hand slaps against his cheek. "Don't you 'baby' me." It's her voice, but there's something different about it; something darker and heavier. Not at all the light, breathy voice he remembers from the bar.

Tony's eyes flutter and he tries to keep them open. She is there, leaning back against the nightstand, and looks exactly as he remembers.

No, that's not quite true. Her eyes are now cold and hardened as they glower at him; her perfectly painted lips are twisted into a scowl. Physically she's the same, but she's a different woman in every other way.

Behind her is a video camera set on a tripod. The red blinking light indicates that it's on and probably recording. His groggy eyes trail upward along his arms and he sees that he's that he's bound to the bed with a rope wound around each wrist and tied off at the bottom of the bed. A quick glance downward reveals that his ankles are likewise tied. He also notices that he's completely naked, with only a blanket covering him from the waist down.

This could mean one of two things, one being far less pleasant than the other. He takes an optimistic guess.

"You know, this is great, but I have to admit, I'm not really into this bondage stuff. A little too kinky for my taste. Though, if you want _me _to tie _you_ up…"

Her hand strikes out again, this time wrapping around his throat and pushing him down into the mattress. "Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you?" she growls. "You're just like all the rest of those animals, Agent DiNozzo. All you think about is sex."

His eyes are wide now as he tries to escape her grasp. "Well, forgive me for making assumptions…usually when I go home with a woman, it's because we both want something."

"I am not your typical woman," she says, softening her grip.

Tony takes a few shaky breaths. "Yeah…yeah, I can see that." He sinks back down, his heart beating wildly. "So what is this all about?"

She snickers as she climbs over him, her legs straddling his body, and sits on his lower abdomen. Her hands slap down onto his bare chest and run up and down along his skin. If it weren't for her outburst moments earlier, he would swear she's flirting with him.

"This is about you and him."

"Him who?"

"Him. The one you torment day in and day out. You call him names. You taunt him. You play pranks on him. You _bully_ him."

"What are you talking about?"

She grabs him again, this time gripping his jaw tightly and pulling him up toward her. "Don't play dumb!"

"Who's playing?"

"You think you're a tough man because you haze him and can get away with it? Does it make you feel better to put him down, to humiliate him? Are you embarrassed or jealous? Because he's so much younger, yet so much smarter, so much more accomplished?"

Tony says nothing for fear of inadvertently saying the wrong thing. Her rants make no sense.

"I've seen you. I've seen you smack him on the back of his head. I remember you calling to him like he was your lackey, referring to him with the amount of respect one gives a roach. But _you're_ the roach, not him!"

His mind is whirring as she slings diatribe after diatribe at him, trying to catch them all and process them, like some mental game of dodge ball. She saw him smack someone on the back of the head? There's only one person he'd dare do that to…

"You mean McGee?"

This only enrages her further. "You see? You don't even have the decency to call him by his first name!"

He's barely listening. "Look, I know I give him a hard time, but…but it's nothing personal! He's a good kid."

"Oh, sure, now you say that! That's what they all said. They begged for their lives, saying they hadn't meant anything by it, that they'd just been joking. Well, does this look like a joke to you?" She grabs a knife from the nightstand and pulls the blade down the center of his chest, creating a shallow, but painful, cut.

Tony screams out in pain, but she presses her hand against his mouth, muffling the noise. "You're going to pay for every word you said to him," she hisses, "and every time you hurt him." She brings the knife to his skin again, this time leaving a gash along his side. His blood is beginning to stain the sheets.

"Who are you?" he asks breathlessly after she removed her hand.

She leans in, taking his jaw in her hands, and smiles in a most manic and unsettling way. "I'm your worst nightmare."

* * *

Tim opened the door to the barn and Kate stepped in, shining her flashlight across the area. Tim found a light switch near the door and flipped it on, revealing that, apart from them, there wasn't a living thing in there. All they saw were some tools on the far end and a couple of barrels. And an unsettling stain of blood.

"McGee, look at this." Kate reached out with a gloved hand and plucked a rod from the table of tools. On the end was metal shaped into a winged-V, the exact same brand they'd seen on the victims.

"She must have made it herself," he said as he examined it. He noticed that the other tools had splotches of blood on them.

"She's got quite a talent for that."

"Among other things," Tim muttered. He did a complete revolution slowly, taking in the entire sight. A small shudder ran down his spine as he thought of the horrific things that had probably taken place in there. It could have been his imagination, but he thought he heard screams and pleas echoing around him.

"It's going to be a long night," Kate said with a sigh as she began taking pictures.

"Where do you think Tony is?"

"Oh, you know him. He's probably in bed with some airhead bimbo right now, trying to convince himself that her beauty makes up for the fact that her I.Q. doesn't even reach double digits." Kate hoped she sounded convincing, but she knew better than to believe that. Something was wrong with Tony and they didn't know what it was yet. Bust she didn't want him to know that. "I'm sure he'll get an earful from Gibbs later."

Tim wasn't buying it. "You don't have to lie to me. I'm not a child."

She offered a small, sympathetic smile. "I know you're not, McGee. But your head needs to be here now, not on DiNozzo. He's a big boy; he can take care of himself."

"Kate…" He stopped and shook his head. "Look, it's no secret why this is happening. This woman is doing this for me. She's going after my bullies for me."

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, I don't think it's any secret that Tony has a habit of…well…hazing. And I'm one of his easiest targets."

"And you think she's set her sights on him now?"

He shrugged. "It kind of makes sense."

"Come on, McGee. Tony can be a pain in the ass, but even at his worst I don't think he quite reaches the level of any of the other guys."

"You're right, he doesn't. But if this woman is as crazy as all of this indicates she is, I think she would see any slight as bullying, even Tony's antics."

"Tim, I think you're getting yourself worked up over nothing."

"I'm not! Tony knows better than any of us not to be unreachable. Something's wrong with him, Kate; I can feel it."

"Okay, so maybe that's true," she conceded, "but if he has been chosen as her next victim, we're not going to find him by standing here talking. Now I suggest you take a look around and find something that can help us catch this woman."

As the two of them scoured the barn, Gibbs waited patiently for Metro to arrive. And arrive they did. Along with himself and Detective Washburn, Detective Kelly had also brought his own forensics team to go through the house, barn, and the rest of the grounds. Gibbs nodded for them to go in while he met with Kelly and Washburn.

Kelly didn't bother with the pretense of formalities, choosing to simply get down to business. "This had better be good, Gibbs."

"We found your killer. You could at least thank me."

"Tell me what you've found and maybe I will," he growled. He didn't like thanking anyone, especially people who rubbed him the wrong way—and if there was one thing Gibbs was good at, it was rubbing people the wrong way.

"Our murderess used this as her main base. We have reason to believe Wickmar and Ashcroft at the very least were killed here. We also found a finger that could very well belong to Fitcher. Agents Todd and McGee are checking out the barn."

"So what do you need from us?" Washburn asked.

"Manpower, so to speak. There is a lot of land to go through and we're down a man."

Kelly snorted. "Who? The smartass?"

"Agent DiNozzo," Gibbs said tersely. He was allowed to call Tony a smartass, but some Metro wasn't. "We thought the case was done for the day and he ended up going out. No point in calling him in when he's probably had his fair share of drinks for the night." It wasn't the truth, of course, but Gibbs saw no reason in filling Metro in on that tidbit just yet.

He led them into the house, bringing them into the bedroom where the video camera and tapes were. One of the forensic techs was already bagging the finger and others were diligently dusting for prints.

"Have you looked at the videos yet?" Washburn asked.

"Figured I'd wait for your guys to finish processing the scene."

"Gibbs!" Kate was rushing into the room with Tim on her heels. Both looked more than a little sick.

"You guys find something in the barn?"

"A few things, actually, including a brand that matches the one we saw on the bodies. But…but that's not the worst part."

"What is?"

Kate and Tim exchanged looks, each hoping the other would jump in to explain. Finally, Kate simply said, "I think it's something you'll want to see for yourself."

Kelly told the techs to keep it up. Then he, Washburn, and Gibbs followed Kate and Tim back out to the barn. "It was in a cooler in the corner, boss," Tim explained as he pushed the door open.

Gibbs noticed the blood patch to the side. "Looks like someone else may have been killed here."

"Yeah," Kate said with a nod, "we got blood samples to be tested. Not sure which of our unfortunate souls it was, but I bet whoever it was suffered quite a bit before dying."

Tim brought them all over to an area in the corner, mostly hidden by a tarp covered with leaves. He pushed those to the side to reveal a small cooler, the kind used at picnics and family reunions for keeping beers and soft drinks cool. He reached out to open it, then stopped momentarily. "It's…well…I guess you should just see for yourself." He popped the lid back and even Gibbs cringed when he saw what was in there. Amid the mountain of ice and sitting inside a glass container, was a set of bloody male genitalia.

Washburn cleared her throat. "Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think any of the bodies were missing…_that_…"

Gibbs grunted affirmatively, his face as grim as ever. "Looks like we've got another body out there…or one emasculated man."

* * *

Tony closes his eyes as he is met with another blow. This one is so hard he swears he can see little cartoon birds chirping above his head. He's often had fantasies about being dominated by a sexy woman, but this isn't at all the way he's pictured it happening.

"Can't…can't we talk about this?" he asks as he gasps to catch his breath.

"The time for talk is over." She slaps him. "You've had your chance."

"So what are you going to do?" he asks, not completely sure he wants to know the answer.

She brings the tip of the knife to his throat, pressing it in just enough to let him feel it, but not enough to draw blood. "I figured I'd take my time with you. Start off easy like this, then move on to more painful methods of…well…let's just call it entertainment."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I'd rather surprise you."

His eyes roll back and he tries not to even imagine what terrible things she may have planned for him. "And all of this for Mc…Tim?"

Her face alights at the name, her lips twitching into what Tony can only assume is meant to be a smile. "Of course. It's all for him."

"Why? What do you think that'll do? It's not going to change anything."

Another slap. "You're just saying that because you've never been in love. Not like the love that we have."

"Love? He doesn't even know you exist."

"He does!" she snarls, grabbing him by the throat. "After this, he will see me and he will know me. He will realize that I'm his soul mate."

Despite being in a chokehold, Tony doesn't give in. "He thinks you're a psycho, sweetie, and this isn't going to change his mind. All this will do is hurt him. Now, if you let me go—"

She's having none of it. With the force of her pent-up rage, she strikes him with her fist, dazing him and silencing him for a few minutes. She's had enough of his talk. He always talks; never listens.

She grabs the duct tape from the table and wraps a long strip of it around his mouth. "You want to know what I'm going to do to you?" she asks as she does this. He looks at her but makes no noise, no movements.

She throws down the roll of tape and grabs the cigar cutter. It's still bloodied from her night with Fitcher. She holds it up into his line of sight, squeezing it a few times so that it clicks. He'll never admit it, but the noise makes Tony flinch. "You think you're the big, tough man? That you're God's gift to women? Well, a few snips and you'll be singing soprano…at least, you would be if you lived long enough. Because if the blood loss doesn't kill you, I've got a good idea of how to take care of you for good."

She replaces the cigar cutter with an aluminum bat, tapping it into the open palm of her hand. "You seem to like smacking people on the back of the head, huh? Well, let's see how you like it when someone does it to you. If you're lucky, it'll just take one, quick hit. If _I'm_ lucky it'll take more than that."

He watches her twirl the bat like a baton. His stomach churns. _If I get out of this alive, I swear I'll never make fun of McGee again_.


	34. Chapter 34

The Metro lackeys had been sent to scour the large amount of land around the house, leaving Gibbs, Kate, Tim, Kelly, and Washburn to look through the evidence that had been accumulated so far, beginning with the tapes. Each had been marked by name and date, as well as a few more detailed notes, including her favorite parts. There was no VCR or DVD player in view, so they could only assume she watched them on the camera screen.

There was a tape for each man from Wickmar to Moore. There were also a few with Tim's name on them. It made his stomach sink.

"McGee, you don't have to watch this," Gibbs said.

Tim nodded. "I know…but I should."

"No, you shouldn't," Kate said. She was angry at Gibbs for letting Tim be there in the first place. There was no need to put him through this. "You and I can go over other things."

"Just play it," he said, ignoring her.

They started with the earliest one of Tim and worked forward chronologically. Most of the video consisted of Tim sitting at home. There was footage of him at his typewriter and him eating. There was footage of him watching television and playing games at his computer. Most unsettling, though, was the footage of him sleeping. So peaceful and unaware of what crept outside his window.

Then they came to a video shot three weeks prior to Cpl. Wickmar's murder. This time Imogene had pressed herself against the window (the open window, Tim noted with dismay and horror), the camera barely catching Tim as he paced his bedroom, phone in hand.

"_Hey, Chris? You'll never guess who I ran into today. Daniel Wickmar. Yeah, he's a Cpl. in the Marine Corps now, I guess, and I saw him at Quantico. Hm? No. No, he didn't recognize me. At least, if he did, he didn't say so. I just froze like a deer in headlights. I mean, what do you say to a high school bully after all this time? 'Hey, remember me? You dunked my head in a toilet a few dozen times at Samuel Chase High.' I'll bet he and his friends don't remember us; we're probably nothing more than some blip in the back of their memories."_

"Well, that explains what set her on this mission," Gibbs muttered. He noticed that Tim's face had gone pink, likely a mixture of guilt and self-directed anger.

"Of all the nights for me to leave the window open," he muttered. He could remember it well, too. The night had been hot and, with the AC so unpredictable, he'd decided to open a couple of windows to get a breeze. "Of all the nights I had to call Chris."

Gibbs and Kate exchanged glances, well aware of what Tim was thinking: he had been the one to mention Wickmar, to mention what he'd done way back when. He had, unawares, supplied the impetus for all of this. He wasn't just a connection in all of this, but a direct source of it, at least in his mind.

The video continued as he shared the phone call with Chris, reliving torment of his high school years. After an hour or so, they'd said their goodbyes and Tim had gone to bed. The camera had remained on him for a good few hours, just watching him toss and turn until finally going still and falling into a deep sleep.

"The Cpl. Wickmar one is next," Kate said. Her eyes flickered to Tim, hoping Gibbs would insist he left. But he didn't. She sighed and inserted the tape.

The screen alit and this time the camera was trained on Daniel Wickmar who was tied to a chair. His eyes were closed and his head was bobbing up and down. He was obviously unconscious. The video continued as such for a few minutes before his head lifted completely, his eyes dazed and a thin line of drool spilling over his bottom lip.

"_Where…?"_

A voice off-camera responded.

"_Hello, sweetie. How are you feeling?"_

He slurred as he came into full consciousness, trying to make sense of what was happening to him as Imogene continued speaking. He couldn't even figure out if this was all real or just a bad dream. When she sat on his lap and bit into his ear, it was obvious this was no dream.

Imogene walked off camera, though her voice was still heard.

"_So you enjoy beating up geeks, do you? Showing them what a strong, tough man you are? Let's see just how tough you are, sweetie."_

When she reappeared she held a nail gun in her hand which she brandished, making sure he got a good look at it. He squirmed, trying to get free, but he was bound to his place and nothing was going to change that. His pleas fell on deaf ears as she placed the gun against his upper right arm, her finger stroking the trigger.

"_You might want to hold your breath. I'm sure this is going to hurt like hell."_

Tim bolted out when the first nail hit. He slapped a hand over his mouth and ran out the front door to vomit in the bushes so as not to destroy any fingerprints or other bits of evidence that may have been in the house. Not that it mattered, of course; they had all the evidence they needed to prosecute her in those tapes. Those horrible, horrible tapes.

He thought he'd be able to take it, be able to stomach it. But his insides had been churning since the first video of him. The start of Wickmar's torture had been the final atrocity that had sent him over the edge. He couldn't watch this; he couldn't even think about it. It was too much.

A hand fell onto his back as he hunched over, breathing raggedly as his body shook. "Sorry, boss."

"Nothing to be sorry about, McGee."

"That was embarrassing. I should have been able to take it."

"Kate was right; you shouldn't have been watching that in the first place."

"I'm not weak."

"Never said you were."

"How many other guys have thrown up as much as I have during this investigation?"

"When a case is this close to you, McGee, you react differently than you would otherwise. It doesn't make you weak; it makes you human." Gibbs knew he should have pulled the plug on this long before. Tim's relationship with the victims and his connection to the case should have had him benched from the case for begin with, but Gibbs had let him tag along, knowing how much Tim still wanted to prove himself to the team.

They had their killer now and Tim had more than proven his worth. Time to put an end to all of this.

"I'm taking you home," he said.

Tim was quick to protest. "No, boss! I'll be fine, I promise."

"Don't argue with me, McGee."

"But who'll stay here and look through everything?"

"That's why I called Metro in. Let them do all the grunt work. As far as I'm concerned, our part in the investigation is over. Now get in the car. I'll gather everything else and get Kate. I'll drop you at your apartment and you will stay there, got it? No trying to catch this woman by yourself or trying to investigate further."

Tim nodded and followed his orders. Gibbs re-entered the house and was met by Kate.

"The tape shows that Wickmar gave her the names of the others," she said. "After a few nails she got him talking. He listed Ashcroft, Fitcher, Blanchard, and Moore."

"No one else?"

Kate shook her head. "Only them. Do you think she'll stop now?"

Gibbs wanted to believe she would, but his gut told him otherwise. "Leave that to Metro for tonight. We're leaving. We'll drop McGee off at his place and then I'll bring you back to NCIS."

"But you won't be leaving tonight," Kate said.

"You can stay if you want. I need to talk to Abby, see what she knows about where DiNozzo went."

"Well, he's certainly not here, but I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Unless they went to his place," Gibbs muttered. "Get our things and meet me in the car. I'm going to send some agents to Tony's apartment."

"What if he's with a woman of his own free will?"

"Then it serves him damn right for turning off his phone."

But they both knew that wasn't the case.

* * *

His body is covered with cuts. None are deep enough to cause a fatality, but they're shallow enough to cause pain. The cuts are well calculated on her part; she doesn't want him dead yet.

"You know," she says as she brings the blade down along his arm, "I think my favorite part is going to be the sex. I think we'll barely have time to push you off the bed before I pull him into me."

He grimaces, both from the pain and the mental image that brings. He doesn't like thinking about Tim having sex, especially not with a psycho woman like this.

She looks at the clock and frowns. He should be home by now. He doesn't usually stay out this late, especially on a Friday night. What could be keeping him? If Tony had been allowed to leave Tim obviously had been allowed to as well, right? Unless that slave-driving boss of his has him chained to his desk doing paperwork or fixing his computer. She doubts anyone respects him or sees his talents.

Another thought occurs. Could he have gone out on a date? Maybe with that dark-haired woman who wears the black lipstick and the short skirts? Her lips curl; what a slut that woman is. So obviously looking for attention.

Or maybe he's with another woman. Maybe he's enjoying a drink and dinner with some other beauty, or sitting in a dark theatre with his arms around someone else.

She feels a snarl resonate in her throat. How dare he do that to her! After everything she's done for him! After the wrongs she's righted! How can he ignore her like this? How can he see any other woman? How can he break her heart?

A muffled scream pulls her from the haze of angry thoughts. The knife has slipped, slicing along his shoulder. It's a deep cut, one that she hasn't meant to make. She utters a curse and grabs the nearby pillow, pressing it against him to stop the blood flow. He's not supposed to die for a while.

_Stop being silly_, she thinks to herself. _He's not seeing anyone. If he was you'd know about it._ _No, he's just making it a late night. He must have a lot to think about this week. He'll be back soon._

The bleeding ebbs slightly. She takes the pillowcase off and tapes it around his shoulder to serve a tourniquet. "There," she sneers. "Consider that my good deed of the day."

Maybe she should call him, see where he is. Unfortunately, his number is the one thing she wasn't able to track down on him. Unlisted and well-hidden. But someone had to have the number. Someone he works with.

"Where's your phone?" she asks. She grabs his jeans and rifles through the pockets, but to no avail. "Where's your phone?" she repeats, this time even angrier than before. Tony can barely shrug. He can't remember what he did with it. He just remembers her taking it.

"Damn it!" she hisses as she tosses the jeans down. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She punctuates the last one with a hard slap to his face. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to leave your phone behind!"

Tony wants to point out that she was in charge of his phone and, therefore, she has only herself to blame for the phone being gone, but given the circumstances he's unable to. Even if he wasn't gagged, he wouldn't want to piss this woman off further.

She falls into the recliner near the window and folds her arms like a petulant child. She'll just have to be patient for now. He'll get there when he gets there.

And she'll be waiting.

* * *

"Yeah…yeah, I got it." Gibbs was on his phone as they drove to Silver Spring. The agents had gotten to Tony's apartment, but hadn't found anyone there. No sign of forced entry, no sigh of a struggle, no blood or other bodily fluids. It looked like a lived-in bachelor pad. "Thanks. Yeah, I'll just keep trying."

"No one there?" Kate asked.

"Tony's still MIA." In the rearview window he saw Tim—who was seated in the back—wince. "Abby should be getting back to me soon on what she found."

"Boss, I could help," Tim piped up. "I could go over the security footage with Abby."

"She can handle it, McGee. You just get some rest."

"I don't really want to rest."

"Whether you want it or not, you need it. Now are you going to stay in your apartment tonight or do I need to escort you up there personally and tie you to the bed?"

Tim didn't respond. Gibbs took it as a sign that he would comply and that the discussion was over.

As he pulled off the interstate his phone rang again. It was Abby. "What've you got for me?"

"A lot," she said. "I just finished talking to that Sammy guy. You know, he's like a dead ringer for Sammy Davis Jr. Anyway, I got a comprehensive sketch of the woman Tony was with and I'm pretty sure it's Imogene Schultz."

"How could you know? You've never seen her."

"Au contraire, Gibbs. I managed to track down a picture of her. It's from her senior year of high school, but it's a picture nonetheless. She's slimed down a bit and her face cleared up, but otherwise she's a perfect match."

Gibbs bit back the expletive that was dancing on his tongue to escape. "Is that all you have?"

"Of course not! I also looked at the security footage and saw when she arrived and when she left. Tony was definitely with her and probably not in the most aware state of mind. He's obviously leaning on her as they leave."

"Did they take his car or hers?"

"His, but I was able to get a good look of her vehicle. When I ran the license plate I found out that she was pulled over earlier today for an expired brake tag. The weird thing is that the car was originally registered to Pvt. Troy Austin, Schultz's ex-boyfriend. It still is, in fact, but since it wasn't reported stolen and she told the officer she was his half-sister, he didn't look into the discrepancy."

"He must have left it behind when he split," Gibbs guessed. "Anything else, Abbs?"

"Are you going to tell me what you found at her house?"

"Not DiNozzo. Anyway, Metro is handling all of that right now. I'm dropping McGee off at his place. Kate and I will be in after that to go over things."

"Oh, come on, Gibbs! Not even a hint of what you found?"

"Trust me, Abby, you'd rather not know."

There was a short silence on the other end. "That bad?"

"Worse. Put out a BOLO on his car and check to see if Schultz has any other properties around here. I'll see you soon."

Kate and Tim were watching him expectantly as he hung up the phone. "What did she have to say?" Kate asked.

"Tony left with Schultz. They took his car."

"That's it?"

"Not much else to go on, Kate. All we know is she's with him right now. If they're not at her place and they're not at his…well, it sure as hell beats me where they are."

He pulled into the parking lot for Tim's building and came to a stop in front of the door. "Go up," he said. "Get in bed. I'll call you tomorrow around 0700 and let you know if there have been any developments."

"Thanks, boss," he mumbled as he got out of the car. Gibbs stayed put, watching and making sure Tim went into the building, that he didn't try to make a break for his car. Once Tim had disappeared into the building, he swung the car around and brought it into a nearby parking spot.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked.

"I just want to make sure he doesn't try to leave once we're gone. Give him about ten minutes."

She sighed and leaned back in her seat, her mouth set in a deep frown. "He shouldn't have been allowed to see that footage, Gibbs."

"Yeah, I know."

"He shouldn't have even been allowed to be a part of this case. I know that pissing off Metro is like a hobby for you, but it wouldn't have killed you to let them take this one."

"If I'd let them do that we may never have caught her. I appreciate them for some things, like doing the dirty work for us back there, but I wasn't going to trust them with this. And whether or not McGee should have been part of this doesn't matter; he was already part of it because it was about him. It was about him from the beginning. And he knows that."

"How do you think he's going to get over all of this?"

"Don't know. Maybe he won't."

"Well, at the risk of sounding insensitive, he's going to have to. At the very least he's going to have to push it aside long enough to do his job."

"He will," Gibbs said firmly. "That much I know. He may be young and he may still have a weak stomach around these things, but he's got what it takes. I wouldn't have brought him onto the team if he didn't."

Kate was silent as she absorbed his words. She knew it wasn't just talk; there was no reason Gibbs would have requested Tim's transfer onto the team if he didn't see potential in him. But he hadn't had the chance to gain much experience before being thrust into this setting. The rest of them—Gibbs, Tony, and Kate—had been all but hardened by their real-life experiences working for other teams. Not to the point of apathy, but enough to be able to disconnect when necessary. That was something no amount of schooling and reading could prepare you for, something that Tim had now been forced to face head-on with such little to go on.

"What do you think is going to happen when they meet each other?"

"Who?"

"McGee and his stalker. How do you think she's going to react?"

Gibbs was quiet. In his mind, dozens of possibilities flew by. "I can't even begin to imagine, Kate."

* * *

Tim pushes the door open. It seems to take more strength than usual, something he attributes to the long work week he's had. In fact, he is so tired he's almost grateful that Gibbs has insisted he go home. Loathe as he is to admit it, he can use the rest.

He drops his bag by the door, not able to carry it another step, and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He wonders if he even has the energy to get undressed. He may just fall to the bed, fully clothed, and pass out.

His stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten anything since lunch (they'd sent out for Chinese) and even then he barely touched the food. He hadn't the appetite. He wonders if he should satisfy the growing hunger or put it off until the next morning.

In the end, weariness wins out over hunger. He can wait a measly few hours. It's not like he has much to cook here.

With his eyelids heavy, Tim turns toward his closed bedroom door. He's already pulling off his tie and kicking off his shoes. He leans against the door, fumbling for the knob. He turns it and topples in…and freezes in his place.

"Hello, Timothy."


	35. Chapter 35

Of all the ways he'd imagined finally meeting with this woman (and truth be told, he had tried to imagine it as little as possible) this wasn't the way he'd imagined it would happen. It hadn't even entered his mind as an option. He'd hoped that, should said meeting ever come, it would involve her in handcuffs and sitting in the interrogation room, unable to do anymore harm. He never imagined that Tony would be the one incapacitated, while she—his self-proclaimed Angel of Vengeance—stood over him, weapon in hand.

She looked so innocuous. With her long, blonde hair, nicely shaped body, clear skin, and full lips, she wasn't the picture most people had when thinking of a black-hearted killer. She looked like the peppy cheerleader in high school or the sweet girl next door. She was the kind of woman Tim would have furtively checked out when she passed, but wouldn't have worked up the courage to approach. She looked so…so _normal_. Another sobering reminder that looks could be deceiving.

"Hello, Timothy." Just hearing his name roll off her tongue sent a shiver through his body. "I've been waiting for you."

"Hi, Imogene," he replied softly, suddenly at a loss for words. He was rooted in his spot, feet planted firmly in the ground and arms hanging uselessly at his side. The only movement he could feel was the rapid beating of his heart.

She was pleased that he knew her name. "You remember me."

"I remember. How did you get in here?"

"Your window. It was unlocked."

He inwardly cursed himself for his carelessness. "Oh. Well, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated in amusement. Her lips were turned upward in an unsettling smile. "Because I love you. Don't you know that by now?"

Love? That was what she considered love? Torture and murder? Those things were the very antithesis of love; those were things of hate. How could someone try to twist them around and call them love?

"Do you remember the day we met?" she asked with glee. "The day when you came to see me?"

He nodded, having a vague recollection of it. "We came to speak to you about Pvt. Austin."

Her demeanor became cold at the mention of her former boyfriend. "That louse," she snarled, her mouth twisting into a sneer. "What I saw in him, I'll never know. What I do know is that when I saw you, I knew fate had only brought me to Troy because he was my stepping stone to you. At least it's nice to know he was good for one thing in his miserable life."

She sat on the edge of the bed, the knife resting in her lap. With her free hand, she caressed the blade lovingly. "My life had been so much pain. People leaving me. People abusing me. People lying to me. I couldn't trust anyone."

"I'm sorry that you went through those things," he said sincerely.

"And then I met you. Everything just seemed right."

Tim couldn't find the words to respond.

She continued. "I gave you my phone number."

"Yes…yes, I know."

"But you never called."

He shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"Why didn't you call?"

There were hundreds of valid and semi-valid answers he could have given her. He hadn't been interested in her. He had still been smarting from his break-up with Abby. He had still been getting used to his new place on the team and wasn't ready to turn his focus to a new relationship. He had low self-esteem and had a hard time believing a woman would be interested in him. But he wasn't sure which would be the best response.

"You had just broken up with your boyfriend," he said with a slight stutter. "You were dealing with that and with finding out that he was a thief. I didn't want to take advantage of you in that state."

She smiled, a chilling, almost crazed smile. "You see? I knew you were a sweet man from the day I met you. Not scum like Troy. Like all of those men who bullied you. Like…like _him_," she said, punctuating her final word with a well-placed stab to Tony's upper thigh. He let out a squeal and tried to pull away as she pulled the knife out. Somehow, it hurt even more coming out than going in.

Tim wanted to vomit as he saw the blood bubble up to the surface of Tony's skin and dribble out on either side. He reached out and grabbed the door knob to steady himself. "Please…don't…just stop. Please."

"They needed to die," she said, unfazed by his request. "They needed to be shown that what they did was wrong."

"Yes…what they did was wrong, but—"

"How did you feel?" she asked, perking up with excitement. "When you saw the first one? How did it make you feel? Did it make you happy? Did it make you love me?" Her eyes were alit and she was positively beaming as she needled him for his opinion, the way a young child needles a parent for a glowing review on their latest refrigerator artwork. "Just tell me, did you feel what I felt when he was finally dead?"

Probably not. In fact, when Tim recalled the sight of Wickmar's body, the first feeling that came to mind was sickness, but that response wasn't likely to blow over well with her. The last thing he wanted to do was make her angry. If this was what she did when she was happy, God only knew what she would do if she was unhappy.

"It was different," he said cautiously. "A feeling I'd never really felt before."

"And the others? Seeing them like that? Did you love me right then? Did you finally love me the way I love you?"

"I definitely had some strong feelings for you." He was doing his best to keep his cool, to not give her another reason to hurt Tony.

"You see? We were meant to be together. It was fate that brought you to me, and fate showed me how I could win your love. I did it for you. All for you."

"I know you did. I just wish you'd spoken to me before you did it."

Her eyes glowered slightly and her grip in the knife tightened so much that her knuckles turned a pasty white. "You didn't appreciate it then." It was not a question. "You didn't appreciate all I did for you, the swine I slaughtered for you."

"No, no," he said, catching himself quickly. "That's not what I meant. It's just that…well…not all of them were bad. Chris—"

"He betrayed you. He told me so himself. He sold you out to them. And for what? His own safety? He sat back and watched you get tormented. He was almost worse than the others. They at least were honest about the kind of men they were; but Chris was two-faced, a lying bastard who hid behind whatever was convenient for him at the time and who would have made a deal with the devil for his own protection. He was a coward and he deserved every bit of what he got."

"Chris made a mistake. He told me so. And yes, I was angry with him for doing what he did, but he was still a friend. I probably wouldn't have made it through high school if I hadn't had him as a friend."

She snorted. "With friends like that, who needs enemies?"

"He was a good guy."

"I know you think that, Timothy, because you like to see the best in everyone. That's why I decided to go easy on him. I spared him the pain that the others had to endure. He went very peacefully."

Tim shook his head. "He shouldn't have been on your list of people who had wronged me. I didn't hold a grudge against him."

She brought the blade of the knife down to Tony's abdomen, pressing the metal against him. "I don't like the tone of your voice, Timothy. I worked very hard to give you this gift and I don't appreciate you throwing it back in my face."

"That's not what I'm trying to do, Imogene." She lessened the knife's pressure. "I just…I wish you would have talked to me first, before you did all of this."

"I watched you," she whispered. She pointed to the window with the tip of her knife. "I sat right out there and watched you."

He nodded. "I saw the videos. You were very…" He trailed off, not sure how to best describe her actions. Creepy? Obsessive? Invasive? "Attentive," he said. "I can see that you have very strong feelings for me."

"I love you. I wanted to be with you, to be a part of your life."

"You watched me sleep."

"Yes…I watched over you when I could. Like an angel."

"An angel," he repeated.

"_Your_ angel. That's what I am, Timothy. I told you as much with every fresh body I sent you. Didn't you see them?"

"I saw. I saw what you branded on them."

"They had to die." Her words were barely audible.

Tim was frozen in his place, not sure how to proceed. His gun was in his bag, lying next to the door. Even if he'd had it on him, he wasn't sure he'd have the guts to pull the trigger. He could charge her, of course, and hope for the best, but he had a sinking suspicion that she had come to his apartment armed with more than just a knife. He might very well set her off if he did that and who knew what "toy" she might pull out to retaliate?

He knew he had to lure her away from Tony. It was his only chance of making things right.

"Let's leave," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"You and me. Let's go somewhere private to talk."

"Isn't this private enough for you?"

He looked to Tony who was already ebbing in and out of consciousness. The wounds hadn't been fatal so far, but with the amount of blood that was seeping out of those wounds, he might be dead soon if medics didn't intervene. Already his body was sagging into the mattress.

"I meant a place where just the two of us would talk."

Her eyes flickered to Tony. She had almost forgotten he was there. With Tim finally there before her, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. But, yes, he was still lying there, his labored breathing dwindling as he tried to keep a firm grasp on life. He was her last victim, her final gift to Tim. She wasn't finished with Tony just yet.

"Wake up," she hissed, giving him a nudge with the handle of the knife.

His eyes fluttered and tried to focus, but they were becoming foggy.

"Up!" she repeated, this time jabbing him in the side with the handle. "Do as I tell you!"

"He's losing blood," Tim said gently. "He needs medical attention."

But she had different ideas. "No…no, we'll just need to get through with it more quickly. I'll hurry," she said as she placed the knife on the nightstand. She picked up another tool in its place—the cigar cutter.

"Get through what more quickly?" Tim asked, taking an uneasy step toward her.

"The torture." She said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "After he's gotten his just deserts, we can go anywhere you wish."

"No!"

His voice bellowed more loudly than he'd expected and even she was surprised by the protest from a normally soft-spoken man. "What did you say?"

"I said no…that is, I don't want to wait. Let's just leave now. You and me. We'll hop in my car and go wherever you want to go. Anywhere. Just away from here."

She pouted. "You don't want me to torture him?" she asked, gently squeezing the cutter, allowing the blade to slice up and down. "I'd had it all planned out."

"You've done more than enough. You've got me, okay? You don't need to do anymore."

"Fine," she said with a resigned sigh. She tossed the cigar cutter back onto the bed.

Tim also let out a sigh, his a sigh of relief. All he had to do was get her to the door. Even if he couldn't grab his gun, he could get her out of the apartment building and away from Tony. He would have to get a 911 call out for someone to come, but that would be simple enough. He knew she was capable of hurting anyone—even him—but at this point his focus was on making sure Tony got out of there alive—and that no one else was harmed by her.

She began packing her tools, sliding each one into its place in her bag. Some were sharp and meant to cut. Some were blunt and meant to break bones. Most were stained with blood.

Tim watched quietly, trying to figure out what she had, what he would be going up against. He strained to see if she had a gun, but couldn't get a clear look inside the bag. _Just because I can't see it doesn't mean she doesn't have one_, he calmly reminded himself, lest he should pounce too soon.

"There," she said as she zipped it up. Only her knife still lay out atop the nightstand, the bloodied blade glistening under the light from the lamp. "All done." She looked up at Tim; he tried to smile.

"Glad to hear," he said shakily. "Are you ready to go?"

"Almost. Just one more thing I've got to do."

"Oh?" His stomach was beginning to sink again, but he tried to keep his cool. "What's that?"

She took up the knife once more before turning to look at him. "What do you think, silly?" she asked with a playful grin. She brought the knife down to Tony's throat, touching it to his skin. "One quick slice, and it'll be all over. Then we can go."

"No!" Once again, his voice was robust enough to startle her. "Just…just leave him be. I want to leave right now."

"I have to do it, Timothy. I have to or we'll never be happy."

"Imogene, if you kill him we'll never be happy. My boss—Gibbs—he'll find you and…and he'll take you away from me. Tony's not worth it. He's scum, like you said, right? He's not worth the effort it would take for you to kill him. He's not worth the time you would spend in jail."

"He doesn't deserve to live!" she screeched. "I've seen the way he treats you! The way he demeans and humiliates you. He's the same as them!"

Tim took another tentative step toward her. "He's not. I know how it looks and I know Tony has his moments, but he doesn't mean anything by it."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You just said he was scum. Now you're saying he's a good guy? Why are you saying these things? What are you doing?"

"I'm just trying to make things right for you. I just want to leave with you, okay? Just me and you."

"Do you love me?"

The question hit him harder than a bullet ever could. He lost his breath for a moment. He wasn't the best liar to begin with, but Tim knew that whatever he said to that would enrage her. He couldn't convince her that he felt anything other than contempt for her.

"Imogene."

"Do. You. Love. Me," she repeated slowly. "I want to hear you say it."

"Please…we can talk about this later."

She brought the knife to Tony's throat again, this time pressing the tip into his skin and drawing a small amount of blood. "Say it! Tell me you love me! Or I swear to God I will make sure he suffers." She was kneeling over him, ready to plunge the knife at any moment.

Tim was silent. His mouth opened and closed, but he could managed to make any sound come out.

"Do you love me, Tim?" she repeated, her voice soft and almost fragile now. "Give me an answer. Now."

* * *

Despite it almost being spring, the Maryland evening was growing chilly and Kate was starting to feel that. A glance at her watch showed her that fifteen minutes had passed since Tim had entered the building and Gibbs had pulled into the parking spot. Unless he'd climbed out of his window, Tim hadn't left the building in that time.

"Doesn't look like he's planning to go anywhere," she said, giving Gibbs a gentle tap on the shoulder.

He looked in the rearview mirror. Truth be told, Tim was still inside. "Yeah. Let's head out." He didn't sound certain, though. Gibbs had a feeling in his gut, a feeling that urged him to stay there. He just couldn't figure out why.

Kate looked at him expectantly. "Well? Are you going to start the car or do you want me to drive?"

"No. I'll drive." He placed the keys in the ignition, hesitating before turning them to start the car. "It's just my gut. Something feels…off."

She couldn't argue with that. Something had felt off since this entire case had started. "It's been a long day, Gibbs. And after everything we found at Schultz's home…well, I definitely lost my appetite. I'm not surprised your gut is acting up."

"Possibly." He didn't want to talk anymore on the subject, though. As she'd said, it had been a long day. Even he was feeling the effects.

Gibbs put the car into reverse and backed out of the spot, giving the building one final glance, as if he thought he'd see Tim trying to sneak out. He put the car into drive and pulled away, going around to the exit.

"It's probably better that we head back. I'm sure Abby is going to need a lot of reassurance from you that DiNozzo is going to be okay."

"DiNozzo…"Gibbs whispered pensively.

"I mean, I'm worried about him too, but you know how Abby can get. We'll need to—"

She was cut off as the car came to a screeching halt. Her body flew forward and only her seatbelt saved her from smacking her head on the dashboard. "Gibbs!" she exclaimed after regaining her composure. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn't respond as he put the car back into reverse and hit the gas, propelling them back a good twenty feet. "Red Mustang."

"What?"

"A red Mustang," he said, pointing past her out the window. Kate turned and saw a red Mustang sitting in one of the parking spots. Tony's red Mustang.

Realization dawned on her. "Of course," she muttered as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "She'd reaching the end of her rope. She'll want to reveal herself to him. I'm sorry, Gibbs, I should have thought of that sooner."

"No time for sorry, Kate. How long has McGee been up there?"

"Seventeen minutes? Maybe eighteen." She frowned with worry. "Do you think Tony is already…?"

"No. She'll want to save him for an audience, to show McGee everything she's done for him. He's got another few minutes left, at least."

"Not if she's killed them both. She's not in a good state of mind, Gibbs. Anything could set her off. If McGee says the wrong thing…if she feels like he's rejecting her, she could feel it necessary to end it all, and take them both with her."

At that, they both quickened their paces.

* * *

"I'm waiting," she said tersely. "Do you love me?"

"Yes?" He couldn't help it; the answer came out as a question.

"Don't ask me; _tell_ me."

"I…I love you."

"Say it like you mean it."

"I love you."

She looked him squarely in the eye as Tim held his breath, waiting to see what her next move would be. She slowly brought the knife away from Tony's neck as she stared Tim down, and stepped down off the bed where she had been kneeling over him. As she moved around the bed toward him, Tim exhaled. It seemed to have done the trick.

"I don't believe you."

And he inhaled sharply once again. "What?"

"You're lying to me. You're a liar!"

"No…no, I…it's true. I love you."

"Stop saying that! You know it isn't true! Stop insulting me!"

"Imogene…please." His protests were feeble and futile.

"Do _not_ say my name!" she spat out. "You have no right! You…you're just like the rest of them! After everything I've done for you! After everything I've given to you! You used me for your own selfish purposes and now you're just going to throw me to the side! Just like everyone else!" She was holding the knife at arm's length now. The tip of it was pointing directly at him.

There was no reason for him to continue this charade. It was going to end now, one way or another. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. I am. But you killed people. You killed a friend and you're threatening to kill another. How can I love you for that?"

"I killed them for you!" she said. Tears were starting to stream down her cheeks and her body was shaking with rage. "I did it for you! You were supposed to love me! You were supposed to see what I've done for you and love me."

He shook his head somberly. "I-I can't do that. I just can't."

"I hate you!" Her voice was venomous now. "I hate you more than I've hated any of them! You made me believe you were a caring man, but you're not! You're just the same as the rest of them!"

"Then kill me. But don't kill him."

She was still as she considered his request. Then she slowly began walking backwards, rounding the other side of the bed. "No…no, I want you to see what you've done to him. I want you to see that his suffering is your fault. All of this was _your_ fault."

_Your fault_. The words swirled about him, almost choking him. "I know," he muttered. "I know…it's my fault. I'm the one to blame."

"Well, at least you admit it," she snarled. She was beside the bed now. Tony was barely breathing. "You should have just done what you were supposed to do. There was a plan. I had a plan. And you ruined it." She brought the knife up, poised to plunge it into Tony's chest.

Tackling a woman to the ground wasn't something Tim had ever intended to do in his life. Women weren't meant to be roughed up. You were supposed to open doors for them, pull out their chairs, and offer them your coat when they were cold. Tackling one to the ground like a football player was a no-no.

And yet, all of that went right out the window as Tim lunged across the way, knocking her to the ground. The knife flew from her grasp and landed on the floor behind them. She screamed as they struggled, each trying to get the upper hand. "Get off of me!"

Tim was surprised by her strength. She may have been petite, but she had a lot of verve in her. Worse, she was fueled by anger, one of the most powerful forms of natural adrenaline. Her nails found their way to his arms and she began scratching ferociously as her tried to hold her down. He grunted and his grip loosened, allowing her to jump to her feet.

"Slime! You rat!" She gave him a hard kick to the side, effectively knocking the wind out of him. "How dare you do that to me! I thought you were a gentleman!"

He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. The situation called for swift action, but he was worn out. He didn't have much fight left in him.

She snatched up the knife and stood over him, placing one of her boots on his chest. She pressed down, making it even more difficult for Tim to catch his breath. "This all could have been avoided if you'd just been the man you were supposed to be."

"Sorry…to…disappoint you…" he said between gasps.

"Not half as sorry as you're going to be." She gave him another kick, this one to the stomach, leaving Tim lying on the floor in a fetal position, his mind spinning. He watched as she walked to the bed, but he was unable to do anything.

He hated himself for that.

"Wakey-wakey, Agent DiNozzo," she purred. "I don't want your friend to miss a second of this."

She brought the knife up…

…Then a shot rang out and she fell backwards, toppling over the nightstand and knocking its contents to the floor. She landed on her stomach, the knife still in her grasp, but she didn't get back up.

It was painful to even move, but Tim managed to pull himself to the foot of the bed and peek to the other side. Gibbs stood in the door way, gun still pointing to where she'd been. Kate was there too, pushing into the bedroom to restrain Imogene—assuming she was even alive.

"Boss…" Tim rasped. "Ambulance."

Gibbs was already in the room and beside Tony. He checked for a pulse. "He's still alive, but he'll need medical attention, and soon. And so will you," he told Tim.

"How…d'you know?"

"DiNozzo's car was in the parking lot."

"'m so stupid…"

"We missed it too, McGee."

"She's still got a pulse too," Kate said as she kicked the knife out of reach and handcuffed Imogene's hands behind her back.

Tim rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. His chest was shaking with every breath he took, but he was breathing just a little bit more easily now. At least she was in custody now. She couldn't hurt anyone.

But that didn't diminish his own bout of guilt.

Gibbs—having freed Tony of his binds and supplied a tourniquet to the wound in his leg—knelt down beside Tim, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "It's over," he assured him, feeling Tim tense beneath his touch. "You did good, Tim. You did good."

Tim wanted to believe him. But he knew he couldn't. Her voice was still in his mind.

_All of this was _your _fault_.


	36. Chapter 36

Two ambulances left the parking lot of Tim's building, one carrying Tony and the other carrying Imogene. Both were alive when they left, but only time would tell if they'd make it through. Tim had been looked over by another EMT. Aside from some bruising, he was physically okay, though it was suggested he head to the hospital just in case. He rode with Gibbs and Kate behind the two ambulances. He was silent, but neither of them tried to make conversation. They weren't in the mood to talk either.

* * *

Tim was dropped off in the care of one of the nurses while Gibbs went to get an update on Tony's status and Kate did the same for Imogene.

"You look like you've been through the mill," the nurse commented. She was a young woman with a smile far too bright for the late hour, so Tim knew she was only trying to make polite conversation, but he couldn't help but flinch at her words.

"You have no idea."

"Well, I'm just going to check your pupils and your blood pressure, make sure everything is okay there. Then I'll take our chart to the doctor. You'll be seeing Dr. Clayton tonight and she'll make sure you're all squared away."

He muttered his thanks and sat there as she got to work. His mind wasn't on that, on what was happening to him at that moment. His mind was on what was happening to Tony and Imogene. What if he didn't survive? What if she _did_ survive? How was he going to face his co-workers? He didn't want to, especially not Tony. How did one apologize for this kind of thing? Did Hallmark make a "Sorry my stalker almost killed you" card? Probably not.

"Okie dokie, Agent McGee. Your vitals are fine. Dr. Clayton should be in soon, so you just sit tight."

Tight? That sounded about right. Tense was a better word. Every bit of fear, anger, and guilt was lodged into his muscles. He rolled them back a bit in an attempt to loosen them.

So stupid. How could he not have known? How could he have let it get this far out of hand? How could he have failed at keeping Tony safe? If Gibbs hadn't seen Tony's car in the parking lot things would have ended much differently. Tony would be dead and Tim would be close to it. He couldn't even fend off a petite woman who weight half as much as he did. Him; a man who was almost a foot taller. Pathetic, McGee. Fucking pathetic. And he called himself a federal agent.

"Good evening, Agent McGee. I'm sorry that I have to see you at this late hour." Dr. Clayton looked to be in her late forties. While pleasant, she lacked the annoying perkiness that the nurse had, making her far more bearable to Tim. She pulled reading glasses from her pocket and looked over the chart. "Where are you experiencing pain?"

"Everywhere."

"Is there any place the pain is especially bad?"

"My right side. That's where she kicked me."

Clayton put down the chart and gently raised his right arm. "I'm going to apply a little bit of pressure. If it hurts, let me know." She did so and Tim inhaled sharply. "I'll take that as a yes."

He nodded. "Do you think anything is broken?"

"Probably not, but I'll have an x-ray done just to make sure. Anything else?"

"Just bruises. Some scratches," he added, holding out his arms for her to see. The scratches weren't bleeding, but they were pink and the wounds were puffy and raised.

"Those should disappear soon enough. I'll just put a little rubbing alcohol on it to make sure it doesn't get infected." She grabbed a bottle and a cotton swab from the table and began dabbing it along the scratch marks. "So should I ask what happened?"

"I was taking down a suspect." He kept it as vague as possible.

"I see. The woman who was brought in, I assume?"

"That's her." He paused before asking the next question. "How is the man? Agent DiNozzo?"

"Not sure at the moment. I know he's in surgery and is in stable condition."

"What are his chances?"

Clayton dropped his right arm and started on his left. "I can't even begin to guess. It's different from person to person. The good news is we were able to replace the blood lost and the majority of his wounds were superficial, so I think his chances are better than most."

"Oh." Another pause. "What about the woman?"

"Also in surgery and in stable condition. I don't know more than that, I'm afraid."

She finished up before informing him that someone would be in to escort him to get an x-ray. "I also want to prescribe some medicine that should help you sleep."

"What makes you think I need that?"

"I'm a doctor, Agent McGee," she said with a small smile. "You're tensed up from head to toe, and after what you've been through I can't say I'm surprised. You'll be better off getting rest. It will help with the pain."

"I don't think I'll be sleeping much tonight. My apartment is a crime scene now and has a forensics team combing over every inch of it. I'd be in the way if I tried to get in a nap."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. Your friend is here to pick you up. He told me he'll be watching over you tonight."

Tim furrowed his brow. She couldn't have been talking about Gibbs. He was with Tony for the night.

She gathered the chart and opened the door. "Normally I'd recommend you stay overnight for observation, but seeing as he's a doctor I'll allow you to be released into his care. I do expect you to follow his instructions though."

"Ducky?"

Sure enough, Ducky appeared in the doorway, coat slung over his arm., and looking very alert despite the time. "Timothy, you look…"

"Like crap?"

"Well, I was going say exhausted, but I suppose your term works too."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Do you think I would be able to sleep with Anthony missing? When Gibbs called I headed straight down here."

"I'm surprised Abby's not with you."

"Oh, she tried, but I managed to convince her she would be better served waiting at my home for the time being. It also saved me the trouble of figuring out what to do with my mother. I don't like to leave her alone at night, especially now that she seems to have taken to sleepwalking."

"Ducky, I'd rather not intrude."

Tim's protest fell upon deaf ears. "Nonsense! You're temporarily out of an apartment for the night and you shouldn't be alone. I have more than enough room to offer you."

"I just feel like maybe I should stay. Make sure everything goes okay with Tony."

"Timothy, your presence, or lack thereof, will have no bearing on how Anthony fares in surgery. Dr. Clayton told me they are very optimistic and that's good enough for me at the moment. I am sure Jethro will keep me up to date on the progress and I will pass along any information to you."

A gentle knock at the door kept Tim from arguing further. Perky Nurse was there with a wheelchair for his convenience, ready to take him for the x-ray. "We'll get you all squared away," she assured Tim as he fell into the chair with Ducky's assistance.

"Thanks," was his muttered response.

Ducky patted him on the shoulder. "No worries, Timothy. I think if any bones had been broken you'd be in a far greater state of pain. I'll bring my Morgan around to pick you up when you're finished."

As Tim was wheeled away—the well-meaning nurse chattering on with basic pleasantries—Ducky wearily sagged into a nearby chair, wondering what else could possibly go wrong that day.

* * *

Patience wasn't Gibbs' strong suit, and he'd be the first to admit that. Sure, he could work tirelessly on boat after boat, whittling away the wood until it took the shape he wanted, but when all he could do was sit and wait for answers…well, it made him antsy and uncomfortable. That went double for hospitals and triple when the person in the hospital was a member of his team.

Add to this the fact that another member of his team was feeling the weight of the past few days' events full force? It made for one terrible night.

He was torn with concern for both his agents, but realized that he'd have to choose one to be with that night. With Tony's life hanging in the balance, Gibbs had reluctantly chosen to see that through and tend to Tim once Tony was officially out of the weeds. As much as Abby liked to think of him as some sort of super being, he couldn't be in two places at once anymore than anyone else could, which is why it helped to count a doctor among his close friends. Ducky would likely be a better companion to Tim than Gibbs at the moment anyway.

They had discussed it over the phone as Ducky drove to the hospital. Tim would stay at the Mallard residence for the night, under Ducky's ever watchful eye. They would exchange hourly updates on their respective charges so as too keep everyone in the loop.

"Any word?"

Kate was standing beside him, seemingly having appeared out of thin air.

"Still working at the moment. But DiNozzo won't die. He doesn't have permission from me."

"I don't know, Gibbs. I doubt your authority extends to the afterlife."

"I'm scarier than the Grim Reaper. If he knows what's good for him, he'll run away from the light."

"Well, the jury's still out on Ms. Schultz. I mean, as far as whether or not she'll live long enough to stand before a courtroom jury."

"Can't say I care if she dies on the operating table or not." If she lived and Tony died…no, Gibbs wasn't going to think that way. That sort of mindset never did any good.

"Where's McGee?"

"Being checked out by a doctor. Once he's deemed fit to leave, he'll go to Ducky's house for the night."

"Do you think he's okay?"

"No. He's miserable and angry and I can't say I blame him. But the sleep will do him good."

"If she does live, Gibbs, there could be a trial."

"Well, yeah, Kate, that's the way the justice system usually works."

"McGee might have to testify."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"That doesn't concern you at all? The fact that he might have to face her again, recount every detail of what I'm sure has been the worst time of his life?"

"Of course it does, Kate!" he snapped. What little patience he had was wearing thin. "But what do you expect me to do? I can't change what's going to happen."

She sighed. As much as it frustrated her, she knew he was right. Whatever would happen…well, they couldn't hope to stop it. It would barrel on ahead like a juggernaut, knocking all of them on their asses. The best they could hope was that the landing would be soft.

Minutes later the door opened and a masked surgeon emerged, his scrubs stained with a bit of blood. "Are you here for Agent DiNozzo?"

"I am."

"He lost a good amount of blood, but we were able to circulate more into his body. The deepest cut was on his right shoulder, near the socket. It sliced through the muscle tissue pretty badly so he'll have limited movement for a while. He'll have to go through physical therapy to regain use of his arm, but it's not as bad as it could have been."

"Does that mean he's going to live?"

The surgeon smiled. "Well, we'll need to keep a close eye on him for the next couple of days just to make sure there are no other problems, but I certainly wouldn't be suggesting physical therapy if I thought he was going to die any time soon."

One weight lifted off Gibbs' shoulders and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. "When can we see him?"

"They should be bringing him to his room soon, but he'll be out until morning. Even when he wakes up, the painkillers will make him kind of loopy, so don't expect him to respond to any questions or comments immediately."

"How long are we free to visit with him?" Kate asked.

"If it's just the two of you, feel free to stay the night if you wish. I'm sure he'll appreciate the familiar faces when he comes to."

"Thank you."

They watched as Tony was wheeled out on a gurney. He had an IV in his arm with a bag hanging nearby. He looked better than he had when they'd stumbled onto him in Tim's apartment, but that wasn't saying much.

Gibbs gave Kate a gentle push toward the gurney. "Go with him. I'll be there soon."

He needed to see Tim before he left. Otherwise, Gibbs knew he wouldn't be able to sit still for the rest of the night.

* * *

As Dr. Clayton had predicted, there were no broken bones for Tim to worry about. But that didn't mean he'd be up and running around anytime soon. "I want you to put ice on it for ten minutes three times a day. The bruising should go away soon enough, but it will likely be sore for a week or so. If the bruising doesn't go away or if it starts to get worse, call me. Okay?"

He was slumped in the wheelchair, staring straight ahead. "Okay."

She handed him a small package of pills along with a prescription for them. "This is a mild sedative. Take two before you go to bed and you'll be able to sleep well. The sample package only has enough for the next five days. If you're still having trouble sleeping after that, you can have that prescription filled up to two times."

Clayton took hold of the handles and gently wheeled him toward the pick-up curb. Ducky was parked and waiting patiently. He opened the door and, with Dr. Clayton, helped Tim into the passenger seat. "It's not everyday I see a car with the steering wheel on the right."

"Yes, well, try as I might, my dear, I simply could not master the left-wheel drive, so I had no choice but to restore this car for my own use. I must admit, it was quite an enjoyable experience."

They closed the door and walked around to the back. Dr. Clayton wanted to discuss a few things with Ducky before he left with Tim. "Dr. Mallard, I'm sure I don't need to give you any instructions. I've told him what to do and given him medicine to help him fall asleep. Just make sure Agent McGee gets plenty of sleep and ices the bruises."

"Of course."

"Also…I'm not completely aware of the events that led to this evening, nor am I completely aware of what role Agent McGee played, but I can see that it has affected him deeply and that his physical wounds are the least of his worries. He's troubled by something; what that something is I don't know and is none of my business unless he wants it to be, but I strongly recommend he speak with someone. I assume a psychological evaluation would be a part of NCIS protocol in this case?"

Ducky responded with a wry smile. It was supposed to be a part of NCIS protocol, but members of Team Gibbs rarely were submitted to such rules, especially Gibbs himself. Ducky had no idea how Gibbs got around that policy, but he had overridden all demands of psych evaluations for his team members in past years, including evaluations for Kate and Ducky himself following their hostage situation with Ari the previous year. No doubt they were all overdue for a nice talk with a psychologist, but Gibbs was having none of it.

Rather than try to explain all this to Dr. Clayton, Ducky simply said, "While that's the intention, it does not always happen that way."

"Well, if it doesn't, I know the names of a few people who could help. I'll gladly give you their numbers."

"That would be quite helpful. I'll let you know if they are needed." He gave her a firm handshake, adding, "Thank you for your assistance."

He had just grabbed the door handle when Gibbs slid through the hospital doors. "Duck, hold up."

"Jethro? Why aren't you with Anthony?"

"They wheeled him into his own room. Kate's with him right now. Not that it matters; he's completely out."

"And the prognosis is good, I assume?"

"The doctor seemed to think so. He said they'll need to watch him for a day or two, but that DiNozzo should be fine except for one cut to his shoulder."

Ducky let out a relieved sigh. "Well, I'm sure that will be a load off Timothy's mind. I was just about to get him home and get him sleeping."

Gibbs held up a hand, signaling for Ducky to wait. He rounded the car and knocked on the window. Tim looked out, but made no motion to do anything. "Roll the window down, Duck."

"What is it?" Tim asked once the barrier was gone.

"McGee…none of this was your fault."

He snorted in response. "What makes you think I believe otherwise?"

"Because I know what you're thinking, McGee. I know how that brain of yours works. I don't doubt that bi—that _woman_—tried to convince you that you caused this. That's the way she does things; she gets under your skin and manipulates you. But don't let her, got it?"

Tim made no sound or gesture to indicate whether he would follow the unofficial order or not. He looked straight ahead, seatbelt pulled across his chest. "Good night, Gibbs."

With no other words left to be spoken at the moment, Ducky slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb. Gibbs stood behind and watched the Morgan drive off. "Damn," he whispered. He knew what Tim was feeling and he couldn't deny that, if he were in Tim's position, he would feel the same way, even if he knew it wasn't logical.

After watching Ducky's car disappear around the corner, Gibbs turned on his heel and strode back into the hospital. But he didn't walk toward Tony's room; he went left instead, making his way to the operating waiting room where Imogene was currently lying on a table as doctors rushed to save her life.

It made his lip curl in disgust. The very idea of people working to save the life of the woman who had tortured and murdered five men, almost six; seven, actually, if you counted Tim, which Gibbs did. Despite suffering lesser wounds of any of the men, Tim had been mentally torturing himself ever since they found the first body. And that just didn't bode well with Gibbs.

If this woman did manage to survive the gunshot wound, Gibbs was going to make her wish she hadn't.


	37. Chapter 37

She was completely out of it as he sat there. Somehow she managed to look quite pitiful in the hospital bed, vulnerable even. Her blonde hair hung softly around her face. Bruises had already begun to form on her skin, results of her scuffle with Tim. If anyone had passed by, they would have thought she was some poor woman, lying there as a result of some act of God, or possibly the victim of domestic abuse.

But looks were deceiving; Gibbs had no intention of letting his guard down. The customary precautions had been taken and she wore handcuffs on both wrists, effectively keeping her confined to the bed. When she woke up—_if_ she woke up—he had no doubt she'd revert back to her primal instincts, pulling and straining with loud screeches as she tried to get free. But that was never going to happen; not under his watch.

"The surgery was a success," the nurse had told him. "It was touch and go; the shot missed her heart by only centimeters."

Gibbs nodded, mentally kicking himself for not aiming better.

"But we've got her stabilized. Whether or not it'll last is still to be seen, but as for now she's still hanging on."

_Of course she is_, Gibbs thought with a scowl. _She doesn't want to go down without a fight_.

He wanted so many things. He wanted her to be dead. He wanted Tony to be completely healed. He wanted Tim to be okay. He wanted everything back to normal, back to the way it had been before this woman had entered their lives.

Kate would come around every half-hour to give him an update on Tony's status. He was doing fine. He'd even started mumbling in his sleep, she'd said.

But Gibbs wasn't going to budge. No, he wasn't going to sleep until she came to. Or died. Whichever came first. And he wasn't picky.

He thought about how Tim had looked, sitting there in the car. He was young, younger than Gibbs had been when he joined NCIS; hell, he was younger than Kate and Tony had probably been when they had joined the US law enforcement. Somehow, though, Tim had managed to look even younger that night. His body slumped, barely registering the wounds he'd sustained. Eyes looking straight ahead, glassy as though he was lost in thought. He _was_ lost in thought, Gibbs knew. That was the kid's problem; he spent too much time in his own mind. He was a thinker more than anything else. He was always trying to find the logical answer to everything—and when in his mind there was always a logical answer.

So what happens when you're stumped? What happens when you can't find that logic in the things happening around you? You probably go crazy trying to find the logic that isn't there. And there wasn't any logic in any of this. There was no reason why she had become so obsessed with Tim, why she had taken it upon herself to become this so-called Angel for him, to decide who lived and who died. It was pure psychosis, nothing more, nothing less.

A soft knock against the open door alerted him. Kate was there for her report. "Still out, but the doctor said his vitals look good."

"Still talking?"

She nodded. "I can't make out much, but I think it has something to do with him being a judge in a Miss Universe pageant. Apparently, he and Miss Puerto Rico are getting to know one another in quite a, uh, biblical sense."

Gibbs allowed a small smile to escape at that. It was a good sign. Tony was going to be just fine.

"What about her?"

"Still out of it. I'm almost wondering if she's just pretending to be asleep because she knows she'll have to face me when she wakes up."

"She may prefer death."

"I'll gladly help her along if that's the case."

"Don't pull any plugs out, Gibbs," she said, only half kidding. "Anyway, I should get back to Tony. I'll let you know if anything changes."

"Get some sleep, Kate." There was a small couch in Tony's hospital room. It wasn't much, but Kate was petit enough that she might be able to get a little sleep in.

"I'm not tired." But her dropping eyelid belied her words and Gibbs could see that she was already stifling back a yawn.

"Sleep," he repeated. It was a direct order.

She nodded in resignation. "Fine, but make sure you get some shuteye too. I think we've all earned it."

Gibbs' response came in the form of a small wave for her to return to Tony's room, as cryptic as that was. He had earned a good night's sleep, but he had no intention of any of that at the moment, regardless of how well-earned it was.

He was going to watch her like a hawk.

* * *

When Ducky pulled up alongside his house, Tim was barely awake in his seat. Soft snores could be heard now and then, followed by a quick inhale as Tim jolted back awake. It seemed to pity to make him walk into the house at all, but Ducky imagined the car wouldn't be very conducive to sleeping.

Abby's hearse was parked in the driveway as well. As soon as he stopped the car, her head popped out of the front door. She had been doing that every fifteen minutes, anytime she heard a sound that she thought might be Ducky's car. She was relieved to see they were finally here and bound down the steps to offer any help she could. "Your mom's asleep, Ducky. She downed a glass of Wild Turkey and then just sort of passed out on the couch in there."

"Yes, that's fine, Abigail." He opened the passenger door and found that Tim was facing a losing battle with his weariness. "If you could, help me get Timothy into the house. I've a guest bedroom upstairs all set and ready."

"I can walk by myself," Tim mumbled, his words slurred and soft. His eyes were blinking rapidly and he tried to force them to stay open.

"Don't you worry, lad, we'll get you taken care of."

Together, they gently pulled him from his seat, one arm going over Abby's shoulders and the other over Ducky's. With heavy steps, they pulled him into the house and Ducky closed and locked the door behind them. A quartet of yapping corgis ran to the foyer, having sensed a new and unfamiliar body in their territory. They barked and sniffed and licked as the trio walked by. "Back!" Ducky ordered. The last thing he wanted was someone to step on one of his mother's prized pets. "Stay put!"

The dogs seemed to understand his command and slid to the floor, watching as Ducky and Abby helped a wobbly Tim up the stairs.

"My room is right next to this one, Timothy," Ducky said as they sat Tim on the bed. "The bathroom is down the hall, I'm afraid, but if you need assistance just let myself or Abigail know."

Abby went to work undressing Tim as modestly as she could. She removed his jacket and his shoes, then managed to untangle his tie. She figured it was best to leave his pants alone—they were no longer an intimate couple, after all—but took the time to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. Then, she pulled back the covers on the bed and helped him climb in. When his head hit the pillow, she pulled the blankets over him, tucking him in the way her parents had got her when she was a young child.

"I don't suppose he will need these at the moment," Ducky said, looking at the sedatives Dr. Clayton had prescribed. Tim was already gone, face buried in the pillow as he fell into a blissful slumber. He placed the pills on the nightstand just in case.

Abby was visibly startled by the recent turn of events. She was pale, even more so than usual, and Ducky could already see the tears forming in her eyes. "Now, I think, would be a fine time for a nice cup of tea," he suggested as a way to lighten the mood.

"Do you think we should leave him alone like this?"

"I think he will be perfectly safe on his own for now, at least long enough for a quick cup each. After tonight, I think we could both use a little pick me up." He offered her his arm and Abby, offering up a half-smile, took it, leaning down to the rest her head on his shoulder. They made their way down the stairs and wound around toward the kitchen. The corgis popped up and followed, gently sniffing and licking along the way.

"Ducky…how did all of this happen?"

"The way all things happen in the world: by chance. We can never guess what will come next."

"But this shouldn't have…I mean, not to Tony and Tim. They didn't deserve this."

"Life doesn't often care about what people do and do not deserve, I'm afraid."

He sat her down at the dining table and went to the kitchen, fetching two teacups, a teapot, the tea leaves, and the sugar, milk, and lemons he kept on hand. He brought them to the dining room while the water boiled. Abby looked up, quickly wiping away the twin trails of tears that were staining her cheeks. Yes, a steaming cup of tea was exactly what they needed after the week they'd had.

"How is Tony?"

"Stable, at the moment. Caitlyn and Jethro are with him, making sure all goes well. The doctors seemed quite optimistic that he would make a full recovery."

Abby nodded. "And what about…what about _her_?" She couldn't even bring herself to say the name.

"I am unsure at the moment. Regardless of her outcome, I can assure you she will not be harming anyone again."

"I want to believe that."

"You know Jethro as well as I do. When he's passionate about something, he doesn't let go very easily. I imagine that, should she live, she'll see little more than a jail cell for the remainder of her life."

"And what about Tim?"

Ducky frowned. Tim. Now that was a much different story. He couldn't even begin to understand what was going through Tim's mind. The guilt was evident on his face and in his words. The worry shone through his eyes. How it was being processed in that mind of his, though, was anyone's guess. If put to the task, Ducky would say this would be a long recovery process for Tim. Physical injuries were easy to deal with. The doctor could see the problem and tell the patient what to do. The mental and emotional injuries were the ones that took the most time to truly heal.

While by no means a psychologist, Ducky had been quietly studying Tim since his promotion to the MCRT. Not just Tim of course; he studied everyone, always interested in gaining insight to their psyches. It was the doctor in him. The others Ducky knew, even the ever enigmatic Gibbs. But Tim came to the team so differently than all the rest. They—Gibbs, Tony, and Kate—had been trained in the field of law enforcement and combat, had dealt with it for a good number of years before they joined NCIS. While not unintelligent by any means, their strengths tended to be in the physical aspects of the job, the ones that required a complete disconnect from everything going on around them.

Tim was different. Tim had an academic approach to everything he did. It was the same approach that had gotten him into MIT and Johns Hopkins; the same approach that had earned him multiple degrees. Though he knew Gibbs would never admit it, Ducky knew that Tim's unconventional approach had been what got him promoted to the team in the first place, to fill a necessary void and to round out the group. Whereas the others relied heavily on gut instincts, Tim relied on his brain, on facts and logistics, making him the kind of man who holed himself up inside his head, sometimes to the point of second-guessing himself or over-analyzing. While these traits could be helpful in this line of work, they also made him more vulnerable than the rest of the team, more introverted, and slightly neurotic. It was not always a pleasant combination, especially when things soured as badly has they had for him.

The others had been in this line of work long enough to have grown at least partially accustomed to its horrific occurrences; Tim hadn't quite had the chance to become so calloused. He was still a gentle soul, wanting to believe there was good in all.

In the kitchen, Ducky heard the pot begin to whistle. "Timothy may not bounce back immediately," he admitted as he retrieved the pot from the stove. He poured the boiling water into the teapot with the infuser already in and filled with tea leaves. He then placed the tea cozy over it, letting it steep.

"He looked really scared, Ducky. Even when he was half-asleep. His eyebrows were scrunched together and it felt like he was shaking."

"After the night he has had, are you surprised? I think he has seen tonight the horror that mankind—and womankind, for that matter—is truly capable of. I dare say it has been something of a rude awakening for him."

"I just feel so helpless. Like I should be doing something."

"You're here right now, Abigail; that's all you can do for him at the moment."

As if sensing the sorrow overwhelming her mind, one of the corgis gently jumped up to Abby's lap and settled down in what could only be perceived as an attempt at comfort.

"Contessa," Ducky warned. His mother had gotten her dogs in the habit of thinking it perfectly acceptable to settle in any lap they wanted (and at the dining table no less).

"No, it's fine," Abby said as she petted Contessa. It was comforting and gave her something to focus on other than the problem at hand.

Ducky conceded, but leveled the dog with a look. "Very well, but let's not make a habit out of this," he said, wagging his finger as if scolding a child. "Now, I believe it is ready to pour," he said, taking the cozy from the pot. He served Abby first and then himself, adding a little milk in for them both.

Abby picked up her cup gingerly and took a sip, letting the warm liquid fill her body and soothe her. One can never underestimate the power of tea.

"There," Ducky said as he poured her a second cup, "I'm sure you feel better now?"

She nodded. "A little. Would you mind if I went up to Tim's room? If he wakes up I don't want him to think he's alone or anything."

He smiled. "I'm sure he would appreciate that. If you get tired yourself, the chair reclines back. Timothy is not the only one who needs sleep."

"Thank you, Ducky." With the tea cup in one hand and Contessa cradled under her arm, Abby left the kitchen to go up to Tim's bedroom for the night.

Ducky finished the tea and poured himself a snifter of brandy as a nightcap. When he went up to his own bed, he peeked into the guest bedroom. Tim was still lying asleep as he had been when they'd put him to bed. Abby had followed Ducky's suggestion and was curled up on the chair, eyes closed, as Contessa lay lazily on her lap. The empty teacup was on the nightstand. Ducky extracted the dog from her place and grabbed a blanket from the hall closet which he draped over Abby.

When he finally fell asleep—nearly 5:00 in the morning, he noted—the house was dark and silent with all its occupants deep in restless sleep.


	38. Chapter 38

"Tell me you love me, Tim."

"I…I can't."

"Tell me!" The knife glints in the light as she holds it, poised above Tony's motionless body. "Tell me now!"

"Please…please don't…"

But his pleas fall upon deaf ears. Her eyes filled with rage, she brings the knife down into Tony's stomach, slicing him open like a pig. Tim shouts for her to stop. He tries to move, to tackle her to the ground, but he's glued to the floor. He looks down, grabs his legs and tries to yank them up, but they stay put.

"It's all your fault, Timothy." Her words force him to look up, as though they have forcibly taken hold of his chin and pulled it up, making him look at her. "It's your fault they're all dead."

And she doesn't just mean the people from school or Tony. He sees with horror that everyone he knows and cares about is lying there dead. His parents and his sister. Ducky, Abby, Tony, Kate…and Gibbs. They look at him, their eyes hollow. "Your fault," is the whisper that comes.

"My fault," he repeats, choking as the words come out.

"You should have died," she says as she walks to him. "You should have killed yourself. You could have saved them all. But you didn't. Because you're selfish. You only care about yourself."

"No…"

"All your fault, Tim. How can you even live with yourself now?"

"Your fault," the bodies behind her echo. They are walking toward him now and Tim can only stand there, frozen and silent as they descend upon him. "Your fault…your fault…your fault…"

"Tim…" She's shaking him now…and her voice sounds different. It sounds soft and kind…and a little concerned. "Tim, please wake up!"

* * *

He shot up as his eyes opened. The bodies were gone along with his tormentor, and he saw he was in a dark and unfamiliar room. His body was shaking and covered with sweat while his heart trembled in his chest. Two gentle arms were around him.

"Oh, God," Abby mumbled as she pulled him in for a hug.

"Abbs? What…what's going on?"

"You were crying, Tim! You were crying and saying something. I got so scared I had to wake you up."

"Where…?"

"You're at Ducky's house, remember? You came from the hospital."

"You're not dead." The simple revelation came as a shock and relief. "Ducky's not dead?"

"No one's dead, Tim. Tony's doing well and everyone else is safe."

He exhaled and brought the palm of his hand to his forehead; it was soaked. He couldn't say he was surprised. He had probably sweat off a good three pounds just from that dream alone. No, not a dream; a nightmare. "It was…it was terrible."

Abby pulled him in closer, hoping his body would stop shaking. "It sounded terrible. But there's nothing to worry about anymore, Tim. The bad guy was captured and Tony is safe. You saved his life."

"Gibbs saved his life."

"But you bought them time. That counts as saving his life, McGee."

He nodded without conviction. He hadn't done anything but cause trouble. He didn't deserve any praise or concern.

"I'm going to go get Ducky," she said as she reluctantly let Tim go. "He'll want to check on you."

After Abby left, Tim's body slumped back onto the mattress. He'd hoped it would swallow him whole, hide him away from the world, but it remained solid, serving only to provide cushioning for his body. He was uncertain what to do with the blankets that had cocooned him. On the one hand he felt warm and was sweating profusely, but, on the other hand, the perspiration mixed with the cool air made him shiver when he wasn't covered. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his body, rubbing his arms to keep them warm.

"Timothy?"

"It was just a dream, Ducky."

"According to Abigail it was quite a bit more than that," Ducky said. He slid a hand under Tim and gently pushed. "Sit up; let's have a look at you."

Tim unhooked the last buttons of his shirt and peeled it off. It stuck to his skin almost like glue. With his chest bare, he suddenly felt cold. And vulnerable. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up, tucking it under his arms to hold it in place.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to ice your wounds." He motioned for Abby to retrieve some ice from the kitchen. "I'll make sure everything is alright and then you can take a few of those pills and get back to sleep."

"Don't need the pills," Tim muttered.

But Ducky wasn't buying it. "Your heart rate says otherwise. Whatever this dream was, it had quite an effect on you." He didn't ask Tim to describe the dream; he could figure out what it had entailed very well on his own. "You'll need a mild sedative to calm your nerves."

"I don't need anything."

"Do not argue with me, Timothy. I am under strict orders and have no qualms about returning you to the hospital should Abigail and I have any troubles." Ducky didn't like pulling out his stern doctor tone, especially with friends, but sometimes that was just what the situation called for.

So Tim sat there silent as Ducky doted on him, checking his wounds and making sure there were no problems. He barely even flinched as the bags of ice were pressed against his skin. He just let them lay him back down and stared up at the ceiling as Abby pressed one bag on a bruise and Ducky pressed another bag on another of his bruises. They switched, making sure each bruise on his body got iced. And Tim said nothing, resigning himself to their care.

Finally, the ritual was done and the bags removed. Abby went to throw them away and get a glass of water for Tim to take his pills. "When you wake up, I'll have a nice full breakfast ready for you," Ducky promised. Though, by his watch, it was already past six in the morning. By the time Tim woke again he hoped it would be noon at least. "If you'd like, we can go to the hospital later today as well. I'm sure Anthony would be happy for the visit."

"No."

"Timothy, you needn't be afraid of seeing him."

"No. I don't want to go."

Ducky sighed, but he didn't press the issue. It was an unfortunate response to what had happened, but it one that Ducky had predicted. It was better to let Tim come around on his own in that respect. The more they pushed, the more he would resist.

When Abby returned with a glass of water, Tim dutifully took his pills and finished the glass. Abby agreed to stay with him until he'd fallen asleep. In the mean time, Ducky saw no point in trying to get any more sleep. His mother would be up soon enough anyway.

"It's okay, Tim," Abby said. She was sitting on the bed beside him, gently rubbing his head, trying to loosen his muscles. "Everything is okay." He closed his eyes tightly, forcing a crease to appear between his eyebrows. She ran her thumb along it to relax him.

"No…" he whispered. "It's my fault…" It was the last thing he said before falling back to sleep.

* * *

The sun had just begun peeking through the window when the nurse came in to check on Tony. Kate had managed a little sleep and woke up when the door open. She knew she probably looked like a mess, but now wasn't the time for superficial concerns.

"How was he during the night?" the nurse asked. Her shift had just started a few minutes ago.

"Normal," Kate said as she took a long stretch. "Talking in his sleep, but that's nothing new."

"Was he saying anything worrisome?"

"Not unless you consider a tryst with Miss France worrisome."

The nurse raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask for elaboration on that. "Well, everything seems to be normal. His heartbeat is regular and he's breathing just fine. He should be up soon, though, don't be surprised if he seems less than himself. They had him on a pretty strong dose of morphine.

Kate had to hide a smile at that. Doped up Tony; now that was something to see. "I'm ready for whatever comes."

After the nurse left, Kate stood and stretched out her limbs. She rolled her joints ad reached to touch the ground. Her muscles were a little sore from having been scrunched up on that small couch. She was itching to go for a run and really get her blood moving, but now wasn't the time.

"Not bad…"

She peeked between her legs and saw that Tony's eyes were slightly open. She wasn't surprised to notice they were focused intently on her butt.

"Nice, DiNozzo."

"Well, I do what I can." Though he was trying to appear jovial, his voice was husky and soft.

"I guess I'll give you a pass this time," she said as she lifted her torso back to a standing position, "seeing as you were almost killed. But in the future, you may want to keep your eyes to yourself."

"Yes, ma'am. And nice to know I get a pass for almost dying. I guess next time I want to annoy you, I'll walk in front of a car first." He tried to sit up, but couldn't work up the strength. "I feel like I'm on…I don't even know. Whatever it is, it's good stuff."

Kate pressed a button. "I'll call for the nurse."

"Where's Gibbs?"

"Waiting for Imogene to wake up."

"Imogene?"

"Your murderous mistress."

Understanding glinted in Tony's eyes. "Ah. She told me her name was Angel. Guess that should have rung a bell for me."

"Well, as far as you knew we'd caught the killer. It's not like Angel is an uncommon name."

"I take it she's still alive?"

"So far. The doctors think she'll pull through."

"Oh well; just prolonging the inevitable. She'll need a damn good lawyer to avoid getting that lethal injection."

"Yeah, well I don't think Gibbs is going to let that happen. He'll kill her himself if he has to."

The door opened revealing the same nurse who had just been there. With a smile, she greeted Tony brightly. "Well, Agent DiNozzo, so nice of you to return to the land of the living."

"Really? I thought I was in heaven, seeing as there's a cherub right here before me."

The nurse laughed heartily, not returning flirting, but not ignoring it either. "You're a charmer, I can see. I'll just make sure everything is okay with you. How do you feel?"

"Tired…and numb…"

"Any pain?"

"Nope, but I assume that little baggy full of liquid that's streaming into my veins has something to do with that?"

"We'll have to start weaning you off of it," she warned, "so enjoy it while you can."

"As long as I've got you tending to me I'll be just fine."

Kate rolled her eyes. Tony was the only person she knew who could be near death and come out of it just the same as he'd been. "You were laying it on a bit thick, huh?" she asked once the nurse had left.

"Yeah, it was a bit much, even for me. But I figured if I pretended like everything was normal I'd actually believe it."

She knew what he meant. This was the biggest disruption their team had seen since …well…as long as she could remember. It would take a while for things to be back to the way they had been.

"Where's McGee?"

"With Ducky. He spent the night there."

"Is he okay?"

"He only had a few bruises and scratches," she said, trying to dance around the question.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Kate sighed and sank into the couch. "How much of last night do you remember?"

"Hard to say. At this point I can't tell what was real and what was just a dream."

"Well, McGee was there and met her. He didn't tell me everything, but from the sound of it she really got to him. If he hadn't tackled her to the ground when he did, you'd probably be dead."

"Yeah…she was a real piece of work." He squirmed just thinking about the woman he'd met the previous evening.

"Anyway, McGee just needs some time. He needs to see that you're okay."

"He knows I don't blame him for this, right?"

"Probably not. You know how McGee is." They shared a small laugh at that. Tim had his strengths, but self-confidence wasn't exactly one of them. It was something they sometimes took advantage of. "I think it'll help, though, if he hears that from you."

"No problem," Tony mumbled. He was beginning to feel drowsy again. That nurse had probably slipped him a little something. "So, you must tell me: what did this Imogene woman have to do with our little McGoo?"

"Interestingly enough, it turns out we all knew her before this case. One of those people you just never really remember."

"Well, do tell, Katie."

She related the entire story to him as he wavered in and out of consciousness. Kate wasn't sure how much of the information he retained, but soon enough he was back to sleep; she could fill him in again later. Right now, she was going to tell Gibbs that Tony was awake.

It was the first step back to normality.


	39. Chapter 39

Imogene had come briefly into consciousness a couple of times through the night, but had immediately retreated back into sleep. Gibbs liked to think it was her way of hiding from him. But she couldn't hide forever. He was almost excited by the idea of tearing into her.

A call from Ducky had informed him of Tim's nightmare, along with the reassurance that Tim had taken a sedative and was now out. "He is not well, Jethro," Ducky had confided. Not that he needed to say anything; Tim's state of mind was quite obvious. "I cannot allow him to return to work right away."

And Gibbs had agreed, though it would leave him and Kate as a two-person team for at least a month or so. But he didn't want Tim working any cases right away. Truth be told, he was still kicking himself for having allowed Tim to work this one. It had been against his better judgment, but at the time it had seemed like the best choice. Now he wasn't so sure.

Once the sun had come up, his time had been spent playing phone tag with Director Morrow and making runs to the coffee machine where he doled out far too much money for a drink that could barely even be considered coffee. Morrow had already heard about Schultz's house of horrors from his discussion with the Metro director; Gibbs finished the tale, including the confrontation and capture of Imogene Schultz. Morrow said he would undertake the task of informing the victims' families that their killer had been caught. Gibbs would have the task of speaking with them at a later time to discuss how things would proceed from here.

"Gibbs?"

Kate was in the doorway, clutching her own cup of coffee. There were bags under her eyes and she was rolling her neck, implying that sleep had been less than comfortable. "Tony is up."

"He's okay?"

"He's on morphine, so he's a bit loopy. Right now he's trying to swallow down his breakfast. I thought you might want to talk to him."

His eyes darted to Imogene, who remained immobile. He knew it was only fair that he check in on Tony, see for himself that he was okay. "Stay here," he told her. "I'll go talk to him."

Kate took his vacated seat. "How's McGee?"

"Ducky said the night was restless, but they got through."

"How's Abby taking it?"

"She'll be fine, Kate. Everyone will be fine."

She wanted to tell him that they couldn't know that for sure, that this case had taken its toll on all of them in its own way, and that they had to be prepared for the worst. But she kept her mouth shut. Now wasn't the time to be the realist. Gibbs knew those things, even if he wanted to say otherwise. She just sat back and sipped her coffee, keeping an eye on the woman who had disrupted their lives.

* * *

It was during his walk to Tony's room that his cell phone had rung. A quick glare from a nurse (who resembled his stern third-grade teacher a little too closely for his comfort) had sent him to an area of the hospital designated for cell phone use.

It was Detective Kelly. "Thought you'd like to know that my guys are finished canvassing the area, Agent Gibbs."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes to wake himself up. That coffee wasn't just crappy; it was also ineffective. "Yeah, thanks for that. Schultz is still out, but DiNozzo seems to be okay. Same with McGee."

"That's great to hear, Gibbs, really, but aren't you interested in knowing what we found?"

It grabbed Gibbs' attention. He hadn't expected them to find much. Maybe a few torture tools or another tape or two. Kelly's tone indicated otherwise. "What?"

"It looks like your Cpl. Wickmar may not have been her first kill."

That got his brain spinning, trying to figure out who was missing in this equation. They knew from the tapes that McGee had led her to Wickmar—inadvertently, of course—and that she had, through torture, extracted the names of the others from him. They didn't have any reason to think there had been others.

"Who?"

"Well, well; for once I know something that you don't." Gibbs could practically hear the glee in Kelly's voice.

"Talk or I hang up. I'd damn well rather be talking to my agent than to you right now."

"We found a body, Gibbs. It was buried under the barn. Based on the decomposition, our ME thinks he's been there about…"

"Seven months," Gibbs said. It wasn't a guess.

"Yeah, that's right. He had dog tags, too, so it looks like he was probably enlisted. If they're his, our body is a Marine by the name of—"

"Troy Austin."

"…Dammit, Gibbs, what else do you know that you haven't told me?"

He hadn't known it; not until that moment. But it all suddenly made sense. Austin and the money had disappeared without a trace, a feat easier said than done. If Tim's recollection of Imogene was correct, she hadn't been pleased with her ex-boyfriend, and she had been pulled over in his car yesterday. Of course she had killed him; it may well have been what made her snap in the first place; the "stressor" he'd heard it called by a few profilers in his day.

"Anyway," Kelly continued, "it looks like this guy was the unfortunate donor of the…uh…contents of that jar your agents found last night."

Gibbs remembered the gruesome sight of the bloodied items which sat in that glass container. It was the kind of sight that could make even the toughest man cross his legs in discomfort.

"Figures. It was the best way she knew to humiliate him and emasculate him."

"You know this unfortunate guy?"

"He was part of a case we investigated, the same case that brought us to Schultz. He's her ex-boyfriend and he, along with two others, stole thousands from the Marine Corps."

"Where'd the money end up?"

"If my guess is right, it's sitting in Schultz's bank account right now." It explained how she could afford so much time to watch Tim's ever move. "Thanks for letting me know."

"A thank you?" Kelly was as shocked as Gibbs at the words. "You getting soft, Gibbs?"

"It must be the crappy hospital coffee talking."

"Yeah, well, whatever it is I hope it sticks. I've got a few things on the way into Metro, but I'll be happy to send them on over to your people as well."

"Now who's getting soft?"

A small guffaw sounded on the other end. "I know working together hasn't exactly been a match made in heaven or anything, but thanks for calling us in last night. I'm just glad to have this whole thing done with."

"Same here."

"Hope your guys get through it. I'll be sure to keep you in the loop." Then the other line went dead.

* * *

"Donald, I have told you many times, I do not like scrambled eggs!"

"That's oatmeal, mother."

"That too!"

Ducky sighed and took the bowl from the table. Breakfast with his mother was always a guessing game. One morning she would insist upon having an English muffin with marmalade, and the next would claim they gave her indigestion. She was beginning to forget her own favorite foods, making it difficult for him to anticipate the best breakfast menu. "You always like toast," he said, placing two slices of it before her, one with butter and the other with jam.

"I believe our house is haunted, Donald. Last night I saw a strange, pale woman dressed all in black skulking about."

"That was Abigail; I told you she would be here."

"And I heard crying from upstairs," Mrs. Mallard continued, not even hearing her son. "There was shouting too. It startled me from my sleep."

"Yes, I'm afraid Timothy was having something of a nightmare."

"We should call the exterminator."

"He gets rid of bugs and other vermin, not ghosts. Now eat your toast."

Ducky poured himself another mug of tea, resisting the urge to pour something stronger as well. He'd planned to visit Tony in the hospital that day and make sure all was well with him. Abby, he suspected, would want to join him, but Timothy had adamantly stated that he had no intention of seeing Tony at the moment. That would leave him and Ducky's mother in the house, neither in any condition to care for the other, meaning Ducky would have to call in one of the nurses. He hated doing so on a Saturday, but had no choice. Now, which one would be the best fit for today? Julia? Wendy? Patricia? Alice?

"Look, Donald!" His mother grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. "There she is! The woman haunting our home!"

"Abby, how is he doing?"

"He's asleep," she said, leaning against the door way wearily. "He still looks scared, though."

'Well, I suppose that is to be expected. The medical world has not yet mastered the art of healing ones dreams."

"What do you wish of us, dark spirit?" Mrs. Mallard whispered. Ducky groaned and brought a hand up to his forehead.

Abby was perturbed by the question, but she knew better than to further encourage Mrs. Mallard outbursts by answering. Instead, she took a seat at the other end of the table and poured a glass of orange juice for herself from the carafe set in the middle. It wasn't Caf-Pow, but it would do. "Are you going to see Tony?"

"Yes, I was hoping to. I assume you were hoping to come along?"

She nodded.

"Give me time to find someone who can come to watch our patients here," he said, giving a subtle gesture to his mother, "and we'll be on our way."

"Do you think McGee will be okay?"

"I think he needs support from us if he's going to have a fighting chance." It was a very roundabout way of saying he didn't know.

"I just don't want Tony to hate him or for him to think Tony hates him."

"Tony will not hate him, and, while Timothy may think otherwise now, he will soon realize that. It's not uncommon. He feels guilty for what happened and blames himself. Since Tony was a victim in this he immediately assumes Tony blames him as well. He's young, Abigail, and quite new to this line of work. As time goes by he will develop a thicker skin and the ability to better deal with these sorts of things, but right now he needs time. This is not something to take lightly; I think any of us could have reacted the same way if we'd been in his shoes."

"Even Gibbs?"

"Even him. We're all human, and Timothy is no exception."

"So we're just going to leave him here for the day?"

"He has made his stance clear and I do not want to push him. Besides, with the amount of medication pumping through his blood, I doubt he'll be able to do much of anything today but sleep."

"Who is going to watch him?"

"I'll have a nurse here. I need to leave one with mother anyway; she can look in on Timothy from time to time as well."

"What if he wakes up and doesn't know where he is? What if he thinks we abandoned him? What if he has another nightmare?"

"She's a nurse, Abigail. She is trained to deal with people. I'm sure she has been witness to a many number of unusual situations. In this house alone I'm sure she has collected countless stories and anecdotes."

"Donald, we cannot have one of those nurses here today." Mrs. Mallard's voice rang out loudly, calling the dogs into the dining room. "Mrs. Woodson is coming today for our weekly card game."

"Mrs. Woodson passed away last year, mother."

"She owes me money!"

Ducky sighed. "Excuse me, Abigail. I must bring my mother to her room and get her settled down before she calls Mrs. Woodson's daughter again to complain. She thinks her late friend is simply hiding to avoid having to pay mother her winnings." He took his mother under her arm and helped her up, leading her out of the dining room with the corgis on their heels.

Abby offered a small smile at that, but it soon slipped away as she thought about Tim. And about Tony. And about everyone.

And it made her want to cry.

* * *

It had been while Kate was reading a three-month-old issue of _People_ magazine that Imogene Schultz officially returned to the land of the living. Kate had been semi-engrossed in an article about how pregnant celebrities managed to keep fit (being able to hire personal trainers and chefs probably helped) when a low moan came from the bed.

Imogene's eyes fluttered opened and slowly circled, taking in these strange surroundings. When her eyes fell upon Kate there was a flicker of recognition. She tried to speak, but with the tube down her throat, it came out sounding like gargling. Kate, though, deduced that she was asking, "Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital. The doctors saved your life. They saved Tony's life too, if you're interested. Do you remember what happened last night?"

She nodded.

"Well, then you know that the doctors may as well have just let you go. I can't imagine you'll get anything less than the death penalty. Even if you do, I suggest you enjoy your freedom here for as long as you can. It's not going to last long." As Kate said that, she leaned over and pressed the button for a nurse.

Imogene fell back into her bed and looked to the sides, noting the handcuffs that kept her confined to the bed. She pulled at them a couple of times as though she expected them to simply snap in half, but soon gave up.

"I see both of our patients have woken up," the nurse chirped as she entered. "Let's get that out right now." If the nurse was at all nervous about being inches from a cold-hearted killer, she didn't show it as she gently extracted the tube from her mouth. She then asked Imogene a few questions, all of which were answered with a rasping voice. Content that Imogene was in no danger of dying, the nurse gave Kate instructions to alert her if anything went wrong and then left.

"So he's alive?" Imogene asked.

"Yeah, he is. Does that upset you?"

"I don't know." To be honest, now that she knew Tim's true feelings of her, everything seemed to have been in vain. The men she had killed for him. He didn't care.

"Why did you do it?"

"I loved him."

"You barely knew him."

"I knew him better than you think."

"Sitting outside someone's window isn't the same as knowing them. You were infatuated with him, sure, but love? I don't think you even know the meaning of that word."

"And what do you know?" Imogene snapped. Her words were hoarse, but resounding. "Have you ever loved? Have you ever found a man you thought was so wonderful, everything you ever dreamed, and had him spit in your face?"

"McGee didn't spit in your face. You put him in a terrible position and he reacted so as to save someone's life. He didn't ask you to do those things."

"Isn't that what love is, though? You do things for them without them even having to ask."

"Next time, I suggest you just send flowers."

"That's your problem," Imogene said with a sneer, "you have no imagination."

"And you have too much of one," Kate shot back. "I'm sure in your mind you imagined this all playing out much differently. I'm sure you envisioned a happily ever after for you and McGee, but that wasn't going to happen ever. You killed five men."

"They deserved it."

"While I know they weren't angels, no one deserves to have those kinds of things done to them. We saw your sick little tapes."

At that, a small grin slid over her lips. Kate figured she was remembering the tapes, remembering watching them, enjoying the thrill of it over and over. It was enough to make her stomach churn. "Get that smile off your face or I'll smack it off myself."

The smile remained, growing only bigger my Kate's threat. "You wouldn't do that, Agent Todd."

"And what would stop me?"

"I don't think it would look good for you or NCIS if you assault a woman handcuffed to a hospital bed. I'm sure I'd be able to play that up nicely for the jury. Who knows? I may even get the case thrown out."

It angered her, but Imogene was right. It would be best to keep her hands to herself for the time being.

"So, where is Timothy? I imagine he's not out buying me flowers and a Get Well card."

"That's none of your business."

"Is he hurting?"

"I'm not going to talk to you about him."

"I hope he is. Then maybe he'll understand how I feel to know that he's just like all the others. He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

Something in Kate snapped, opening the floodgates before she knew what was happening. "McGee cares more about others than he cares about himself! He'd rather give up his own life than see anyone else suffer on his behalf!"

A small chuckle rumbled through Imogene's throat. "I thought you weren't going to talk to me about him."

"McGee is going to be fine. We'll see to that. You, on the other hand, have very little to look forward to during the rest of your miserable life."

"You think I'm afraid of death? Sweetie, I have no problem facing death. I welcome it. Anything to get me away from all of you." She looked away as her mouth set into a frown. "I only wish I could have hurt him more. Hurt him the way he hurt me."

Kate knew if she stayed there she would not be able to control herself. She had already played into Imogene's game more than she wanted. "I'm going to go let Agent Gibbs know you're up. Believe me, he'll have a lot to say to you. I hope you don't mind being compared to a female dog because you'll be hearing a lot of it."

After leaving she left word with the nurse to keep an eye on that room. The last thing they needed was any sort of escape.

She didn't go directly to Tony's room. Instead, she took a detour to the hospital cafeteria to grab a cup of coffee and something to eat. Mostly, she wanted to calm her nerves before approaching Gibbs. Her short conversation with Imogene had affected her more greatly than she wanted to admit. As someone who prided herself on her ability to piece together psychological profiles, it was rare that she allowed someone to get inside her head.

As she ate the soggy toast and washed it down with coffee, she considered Tim's fragile state of mind, as it currently was. He wouldn't stand a chance in a psychological battle against Imogene; she'd have him even more convinced that he was to blame for this. They needed steps forward, not falls backward.

Tim couldn't see that woman again. He wouldn't see her again. Kate would see to that.


	40. Chapter 40

Things fell into something of a lull during the next couple of days. Tim remained at Ducky's house for those nights, doing little more than sleeping. Ducky had to remind him to eat. Abby returned to her own apartment at night, but spent the day at Ducky's, watching over Tim protectively. Kate and Gibbs switched off, with one staying at the hospital and the other at Ducky's. They only went home to change clothes.

Slowly, but surely, Tony was returning to his old self. His movement was still limited and the hospital kept him on the painkillers, but he was trying to hide it behind smartass comments that would normally earn him a slap to the back of his head. He didn't mention what had happened that night in Tim's apartment nor did he try to play the victim. He just put on a good front to keep the others from worrying.

It soon became apparent that an officer had to be stationed outside Imogene's room and had to be present in the room whenever a doctor or nurse was there. She had recovered quickly as well and was not without her own stash of verve. When a nurse had come to redress her wounds, Imogene had almost dislocated her shoulder trying to pull out of the handcuffs and grab the poor woman. She was given sedatives whenever necessary.

When Tuesday rolled around, Gibbs was called back to NCIS to handle the paperwork of the case and speak with the families. He was dreading the latter.

* * *

"We're not sure when the trial will be, but NCIS will keep you informed. It's possible Ms. Schultz will plead guilty and we won't even have to go through a trial." He was explaining the proceedings to the dead men's next of kin, letting them know what to expect in the coming months. People outside of law enforcement expected killers and other criminals to be immediately thrown in prison for the rest of their life. They didn't understand the amount of time it could take for a person to be brought to trial and how long those trials could last. The more heinous the crime, the more time it would take to accumulate evidence, get witness statements, and put together a case, both for the prosecution and the defense. He didn't want any of them to expect a speedy solution.

Sitting with him in the room were Dan Wickmar's parents, Cindy and Bill; Steve Ashcroft's father, Jake; Ryan Fitcher's widow, Linda; and George Moore's children, Lance and Marie. Chris Blanchard's parents had died in a car crash some years before and he had been an only child, leaving no one to mourn his death, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Gibbs.

"Why did she do this, Agent Gibbs?" asked Cindy Wickmar. "Why did she murder my son?"

It was a loaded question. How did one answer it without accusing this woman's dead son of being a high school bully? "She believed that he and the others had wronged someone and was trying to get retribution."

"Someone?" Lance asked with a sneer. "You mean that agent of yours that you're protecting?"

"Mr. Moore, I am not protecting anyone. Imogene Schultz was the killer and she worked alone."

"So why was Agent McGee brought in for questioning by Metro?" Lance shot back. "Why is it that every person killed had a connection to him?"

"McGee?" Jake Ashcroft repeated. "You mean Timothy McGee?"

Bill Wickmar rolled his eyes. "Oh, that kid."

Gibbs turned to him with a cold glare. "And what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Wickmar?"

"It means that he was an oversensitive teenager who took every little thing and blew it out of proportion. Our boys teased him a bit—you know how teenage boys are—and he'd go crying to every teacher who'd listen."

"We had to go to the school quite a few times to straighten it out," Cindy cut in. "It was very inconvenient."

"I'm sure having his head dunked in a filthy toilet was pretty inconvenient to McGee," Gibbs replied tersely. He hadn't wanted to get into this, but it seemed there would be no choice.

"So you're defending this woman in what she did?" Bill Wickmar asked.

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you that you shouldn't take high school bullying so lightly. That doesn't mean any of them deserved this."

"Oh, what bullying? They were teenage boys and they behaved like teenage boys."

"If I'd behaved that way in high school my dad would have taken a belt to my ass. Being a teenage boy isn't an excuse to get away with things."

"And my dad?" Lance said. "He deserved this because some kid couldn't handle high school?"

"He had the authority to stop it and he didn't. I'm not sure if you've seen the news, but bullying is coming into the forefront. Bullied kids are fighting back with guns and bombs, or killing themselves because they don't see any other choice."

"Maybe this kid should have done that," Jake muttered. "Then my son would still be alive."

That sent Gibbs to his feet. He leaned over the table and stared Jake down, his face turning a fierce red. "You speak that way about one of my team members again and I will haul you from this building by your throat, you got that?"

"Are you threatening me, Agent Gibbs?"

"You bet your ass I am. I know your upset, and I don't blame you. No one—not even three punk bullies and a chicken-shit principal—should have to go through those things. But that doesn't miraculously change their own terrible deeds. Your anger is misplaced. If you want to curse Imogene Schultz and sit in at her execution with a bag of popcorn, be my guest. But Tim McGee is just as much a victim here as anyone, maybe even more so when you consider what he went through that led up to this. And if you think he doesn't feel any guilt for all of this, you're dead wrong. The kid is sympathetic and sorry for everything they went through, even though it's not his fault. That's how big of a heart he has. Now if you have something bad to say about him, I suggest you do it elsewhere, because if I hear so much as a whisper of it I won't be able to control myself."

He stormed over to the door and yanked it open, nearly ripping the knob off in the process. "If you have any questions, call someone else; not me. Now get out."

All of them were visibly shaken by the sudden outburst, but they retained their cool demeanor as they left. One by one, they filed out of the room, leaving only Linda Fitcher in her seat. The young widow had hardly spoken a word since arriving and now sat in her seat, her eyes rimmed with tears.

Gibbs walked to the other side of the table and calmly took his seat. "Have you something to say?"

She looked up and a few tears escaped down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs," she said as she brushed them away. "For what they said."

"They said it, not you."

"I know…but I admit I was angry at this guy…Agent McGee…I was angry at him too. At first. Silly, I know; being angry at someone I've never even met." She began fishing through her purse for a tissue. "I thought maybe if I blamed him, I could ignore the fact that my husband had done those things. I didn't want to remember him as a bully."

Gibbs demeanor softened. "We all make mistakes."

"Some more than others." She dabbed at her eyes. "My husband made mistakes, I know, and he paid for them more dearly than anyone should. But he was a good man. Maybe not back then, but now, since I've known him. I know he regretted the things he did.'

"I'm sure he did."

She collected her things slowly and Gibbs didn't rush her. When she reached the door, she turned back. "Tell your agent that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what Ryan did to him and I'm sorry that he had to relive it here. I just…I just want all of the pain to go away. For all of us."

Gibbs stayed in his place after she'd gone, mulling her words over in his mind. They all wanted the pain to go away.

* * *

If anyone wanted the pain to go away, it was Tim. He had spent the last three days holed up in the guest bedroom of Ducky's house, leaving only to use the bathroom and take a shower. He didn't even venture downstairs. All of his meals were brought up.

He felt like an invalid and he hated it. But he didn't have the energy or ambition to leave. If it was even suggested that he leave the house to visit Tony he clamed up. They had stopped pushing him, giving him time to decide on his own when the time was right.

To pass the time, Tim alternating between trying to read (Ducky's home housed a plethora of books) and sitting by the window, just staring out. And thinking. He tried not to think about what had happened, but that was impossible. No matter what he forced his mind to focus upon, it would always find a way back to Imogene and her obsession. He thought about the day they had met all those months ago, trying to remember if he had done or said anything to give her the impression that he had feelings for her and that he would want her to do the terrible things she did. It was mostly a blur in his mind, one of many meaningless moments he'd had during his employment at NCIS. Meaningless at the time, of course; now it meant everything.

A knock at the door pulled his attention from the window. "I thought you may want some lunch," Ducky announced as he entered with the tray of food.

"You don't have to wait on me," Tim said as Ducky placed the tray down on the nightstand. He was a bit embarrassed to be doted upon this way, as though he was a child.

'Well, if I don't you will most certainly starve, Timothy. Your mind is elsewhere and you seem to forget that food is a necessity of life."

"I'm just not that hungry "

"While that's not surprising, it does not change the fact that you must eat. You do not need to eat the sandwich if you don't want to, but I insist that you eat the soup. Otherwise I will have no choice but to put you on an IV."

Tim nodded and stood from the chair. Truth be told, the soup did look a little appetizing. "I'll try," he promised pitifully.

"I ask for nothing more."

Tim took the spoon and lifted it to his mouth, gently slurping the broth. "Where is everyone?" he asked as he dipped back down for another scoop.

"Abigail has been called back to work and Jethro had business to take care of there as well. Caitlyn is at the hospital with Anthony."

"You don't have to go back to work?"

"I have convinced Director Morrow that for the time being, my expertise would be better served here. Autopsy has had no other visitors lately, especially with Metro taking control of our other…" He stopped himself short of mentioning their most recent find in the case.

"It's okay, Ducky; we can talk about it." News of finding Pvt. Troy Austin's remains had spread quickly along the law enforcement circuit. Schultz's bank assets had been frozen until a full investigation could be done. Not that she would have access to the money anyway at the moment.

"I guess we can consider that case closed," Tim said. "Austin must have told Imogene about the money. Maybe he went to her for help. She probably convinced him to deposit the money into her account so it couldn't be traced to him. Then she killed him. Well, after making sure his last living moments were painful," he added, wincing as he recalled the contents of the jar. "I just can't believe I missed it."

"Missed what?"

"All of it. The fact that she had been lying, that she had castrated and killed her ex-boyfriend and had taken the stolen money for herself. If I hadn't missed all of that, we could have arrested her there and then instead of waiting until she killed five more people." He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. "I'm such an idiot."

"As I recall, you were not the only one to speak with Ms. Schultz during that interview. None of the others noticed anything was amiss; why are you shouldering the responsibility of figuring it?"

"I'm the one who talked to her the most. I'm the one who kept trying to find out where the money went, looking at the accounts. I should have thought to check her accounts too. I should have realized she was unhinged, that she was capable of doing those things."

"Timothy, people with dark sides are often very good at hiding them. That's how they manage to get away with it. I'm sure it would be simpler in life if all of the villains wore emblems identifying them as such, but they don't. Every person you pass on the street could harbor cruel capabilities and Ms. Schultz is no different. I suspect many people passed her on the street and spoke to her without thinking she may be a murderer."

"They're not federal agents."

"She is manipulative, Timothy. That is how she gets to people. That's how she got to all of her victims. Do not play into her game. You're better than that."

Tim didn't respond as he continued sipping the soup. When he finished it, he set the bowl aside and leaned back against the pillow. He wanted to change the subject. "How is Tony doing?"

"Very well. He has made a good recovery. The doctors wish to keep him for a few more nights to make sure there is no infection, but he should be back to his usual self in no time. Sooner, in fact. When I visited yesterday he was trying to talk the nurse into purchasing the latest issue of _GSM_ for him."

Tim couldn't help but flash a small smile. At least one thing was going well. But for every one thing that went well, something else wouldn't. "And…she is too?"

Ducky hesitated for a moment. He had only checked in on Imogene once during a hospital visit—mostly for his own curiosity, but also for the sake of checking her progress. She had been filled with more anger and loathing than he'd ever seen bottled up in one person. He had seen that she was a fighter, meaning it would take more than a bullet from Gibbs to stop her now.

"She has survived and looks to be recovering well," he admitted. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about. Once she is well enough to leave the hospital, she will be transferred to a prison to await trial. I wouldn't worry about her posting bail, should it even be an option."

"What if she isn't found guilty?"

"Given the mounting evidence we already have, I do not think that would even be a possibility. I don't think any lawyer would even dream of going to trial with what we have. At this point the question is whether or not she'll be found guilty, but what her sentence would be."

Ducky took the bowl and tray, moving it to another table in the room. Then, he took a seat beside Tim's bed. "Now, let us move onto a cheerier subject. If you're interested, I could think of quite a few stories that may take your mind off things."

"That would be nice, Ducky. Thanks."

And so they spent the next hour or so in there, with Ducky relating every anecdote he could remember and Tim listening quietly, trying to concentrate on the words. He felt silly behaving the way he had, wallowing in his own self-pity. That wasn't going to help anything. He needed to take the first step to getting past this and no one else could do that for him.

"Well," Ducky said after finishing one final story, "I suppose I should go wake my mother from her afternoon nap. It is almost time for _Family Feud_. Mother can be insufferable when she misses that."

"I guess I'll just get some sleep," Tim said. It felt strange to sleep when the sun was still up, but he could think of little else to do. Besides, he had been awake since three that morning after being woken by another nightmare. He had quietly lay in his bed, not wanting to disturb anyone else, and had stayed there until Ducky had come up with breakfast. His body was telling him it was time to sleep now and he wasn't in the mood to fight it.

As Ducky gathered the tray of half-eaten food, he turned back to Tim. "Anthony has asked about you," he said. "He is quite concerned."

"He's concerned about me? Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

"I think he would appreciate a visit," Ducky continued. "If you do not feel ready, I will not push the matter, but I want to extend the offer once more. You will need to see him at some point and it would be good for you to get out of the house."

Tim wanted to see Tony. He wanted to see that his friend was okay, that he wasn't dead, as he had been in Tim's dreams many times during the past couple of days.

He wanted to move on.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Ducky repeated, visibly surprised.

"I'll go. Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow would be fine. I'll bring you to the hospital. I'm sure Dr. Clayton would appreciate being able to check up on you." He didn't mention her offer of suggesting therapists to help Tim through this. She could breach the subject to him herself now that he was in a better state of mind than he had been the first time she saw him. "We'll check in with her first, let her know your progress."

"That I keep having nightmares and still need sedatives? That's not really progress."

"That you are sleeping at all is progress, as is your decision to visit with Tony. It's a step in the right direction and should not be taken lightly."

"I guess."

Ducky gently laid a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Even the smallest of steps can have the largest of impacts. No one expects you to move mountains at the moment, nor can you expect it of yourself. Pushing yourself to the brink of sanity will do no one any good."

Tim nodded. "I'll…I'll try to remember that."

Once Ducky was gone, Tim leaned over and grabbed the pills. Though his body was weary, he knew his mind would need a little help in calming down. Ducky kept a glass of water on the nightstand for him, refreshing it every so often. Tim swallowed two of the pills and settled down under the comforter. The sun still shone brightly outside the window, but soon his world was only darkness, with gruesome images still filling his dreams.


	41. Chapter 41

"How have you been sleeping, Agent McGee?"

"Not too well. I still need the pills."

"That's perfectly natural. Any nightmares?"

"Constantly. I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep without dreaming about her…about what happened."

Dr. Clayton smiled sympathetically. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. You're under a lot of stress and have been through a traumatic experience. These kinds of things are to be expected. They'll decrease as time goes by and your mind is able to move past it."

"I just don't want to be afraid of going to sleep."

"Have you considered speaking with someone about this?"

"I've been talking to Ducky mostly."

"I meant someone with training in mental health. While I know Dr. Mallard is more than competent in treating your physical ailments, I think you'd do well to speak with a therapist."

Tim's eyes moved to avoid her gaze. He remembered seeing a therapist before, back when he was in high school. He had begun going to Dr. Rooney during his sophomore year, after the debacle at his winter formal. His parents had hoped it would help him cope with the bullying at school, especially since the administration wasn't doing much to stop it. They had talked about his fears and his problems; they had talked about what was happening to him and how he could deflect their attempts at bullying; and sometimes they just talked about him and his interests. Dr. Rooney had soon recognized Tim's love of computers and had suggested he focus on them as a hobby to keep his mind off of the problems at school. Try as he might, Dr. Rooney could only do so much in helping Tim. He had given the young boy the tools of build his confidence and ideas of how to escape his tormentors, but even he had admitted to Tim's parents that, without cooperation from the school, there would be little done to stop the bullying.

When word of his therapy had gotten out—how, he didn't know—many of the students had begun to regard him as something of a freak. People accused him of being insane and had suggested he get to an asylum before he snapped and went ballistic on them. One person even left a straight-jacket in his locker one day.

Tim knew that seeing a therapist didn't make him crazy, but he couldn't help but feel inadequate to even need one. "I'll see," he said.

Dr. Clayton didn't look pleased by his noncommittal answer. "I can't stress to you how important this is, Agent McGee. This could help with your recovery."

"I said I'll see," he repeated irritably. "I…NCIS has its own procedure for these sorts of things."

"And from what I've heard your boss has ways of getting around those procedures." She frowned before turning to her pad and scribbling down a few names on it. "Now, I cannot force you to seek help, but I will give you a few names. I've worked with these doctors in the past and I know any one of them would be of great help to you."

He took the paper from her and nodded as he folded it up and placed it in his pants pocket. He intended to toss it the moment he was gone.

"Well, your external wounds seem to be healing fine. The bruises should be gone in a week or so. Just remember to ice them. The pills should be fine for the next two weeks. If you have any other problems, give me a call. I'm always happy to help."

"Thank you, Dr. Clayton."

"Now, unless you have anything more to tell me, I'm sure your friend would appreciate a visit."

* * *

"What did Dr. Clayton have to say?" Ducky asked when Tim met up with him in the waiting area.

Tim shrugged in response. He didn't want to talk about it. The list of names was still in his pocket. It felt like it was burning a hole in there.

"Yes, well, the nurse is in there with Anthony, but when she is gone you may go in."

"Aren't you going to come in?"

"I assume the two of you may wish to speak privately," he replied. "I am feeling quite peckish and will probably get something to eat. Let me know when you're ready to leave."

Tim felt ready to leave right then, but he didn't say so. He couldn't back out now. "Okay."

Ducky smiled and gave him a hearty pat on the back. "Cheer up, lad. The nurse is quite attractive, so Anthony should be in a jovial mood when you enter."

Once Ducky was gone, Tim took a seat opposite the door. His hands were clasped together and sitting in his lap, giving him the appearance of a student who had been sent to the principal's office. His head hung low. What was he going to say? He wanted to open with something good, something that wouldn't make him sound stupid.

The door opened and he looked up. The nurse—who was indeed very pretty, as Ducky had stated—smiled sweetly at him as she exited. "I assume you're here to see Agent DiNozzo?"

"Yes."

"He's so funny," she said. "And he's in a good mood today. Not that I've seen him in a bad mood since he's been here."

Tim stood as she held the door open for him. "Thanks," he said.

"You just let me know if you, or he, need anything." With that, she closed the door behind him, leaving them alone. For the first time in four days, he saw Tony, saw how he was recovering from that night. It wasn't the nicest of sights, but it wasn't nearly as bad as Tim had imagined.

"The pretty nurse leaves and now I'm left with you? Just my luck." Tony's good-natured tone belied his words, as did the small smile he threw Tim's way.

"How can you be so cheerful?"

"Well, I've got a catheter on, so I don't have to worry about taking care of business, I'm being pumped full of the nicest drugs in the world, and the nurse doting on me looks like she could have been Miss April in _GSM_. How can I _not_ be so cheerful?"

Tim stood awkwardly in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah? For what?"

"For what?" Tim repeated, barely able to choke the question out. "Tony, my stalker kidnapped you, she tied you up on my bed, and she almost killed you. Your body looked like a Jackson Pollock piece with all the cuts on it."

"Yeah," Tony agreed, "but as psycho women go, she looked pretty sexy wielding that knife."

"Tony!"

"Well, what do you expect me to say, McGee? Get out? I hate you? How dare you not be able to predict the actions of a woman you barely knew and realize that she had a few screws loose? We _all_ thought Frankel was our killer. Maybe I lowered my guard more than I should have. Maybe I should have stayed there until we were positive it was here. There are a lot of things all of us could have done differently here, myself included. But you know who _should_ have done something differently? Her. Imogene or whatever her name is. She's the one at fault for what happened. She's responsible for her own actions."

Tim took the seat beside the hospital bed and leaned back with a sigh. "But her actions were spurned on by me. She was doing all of this for me, Tony."

"Did you ask her to?"

"No, but—"

Tony raised a hand to cut him off. "Then you're not responsible for this.'

"You didn't see the tapes." Tim shivered as he remembered watching them, seeing himself in the comforts of his own apartment, a place he thought to be safe. It made him feel so violated. "She was watching me. She heard me talking to Chris about Dan, about seeing him. If I hadn't called Chris…if I hadn't left my window open that night…if I hadn't made such a big deal out of the things they did…maybe they'd all still be alive."

They sat there in complete silence for a few moments. Tim took Tony's silence to mean he agreed, that he saw how all of this came back to Tim, making it his fault.

"You know, McGee, if I could reach, I'd Gibbs-smack some sense into you right now."

Tim looked up. "What?"

"After this long on the team—hell, this long working for NCIS—I'd assume you'd have figured this out."

"Figured what out?"

"The fact that thing go bad, that sometimes things really suck for us and sometimes the things we do can lead to awful consequences. But that doesn't make us responsible for them."

"Tony…"

"Shut up and listen for once. I know how your brain works. I'm sure that these past few days you've spent too many hours considering all of the things you could have done differently and how they may have affected this outcome. You probably approached it like a science problem; X plus Y equals Z, so replace X with B or whatever," he said, waving his hand as though shooing the very thought away. "I'm sure you know science was never my subject of expertise, but one thing I remember from all of my high school lab experiments is that you always have uncontrolled variables. I'm sure an MIT guy like you can figure out that 'uncontrolled' means…well, you can't control it. That woman is an uncontrolled variable if I've ever seen one."

"That's not exactly how it works," Tim mumbled.

"You're just trying to deflect the point because you know I'm right."

"How do I get past it then? How do I stop questioning everything I've done? How do I stop admonishing myself on how I contributed to what happened?"

"You just do. You'll have to."

"It's not that simple."

"Yeah, I know."

"How could you possibly know?"

"Geez, McGee," Tony said with a snort, "you act like you're the first person in the history of the world to agonize over something you did. I…" He paused, stopping himself short of continuing the budding thought. He turned his head to the side and looked out the window, his eyes slightly glazed over, as though remembering something.

"Tony?" Tim pressed.

"She was nineteen," he said. "At Ohio State. She was a freshman, I was a junior."

"Who?"

"Sally Powers," he said. "We had some class together. I can't even remember which one; really boring, though. I spent most of the time flirting with her, and she flirted back. She was gorgeous. I mean _really_ gorgeous. Like, the kind of woman you think can only exist in your dreams. She had these plump lips and these blue eyes and these big br—"

"Does this story have a point?"

"I was getting to that, Probie Interruptus. So finally I figured I'd ask her out. I invited her to one of the coffee places near campus. We were going to meet for lunch the next day. I got there at noon and waited…and waited…and waited. By the time it was 12:45, I figured I'd been stood up. So I left."

"She didn't stand you up?" Tim guessed.

"No. I found out the next day that she'd been hit by a car on her way there. Witnesses said she'd walked against the light. All of the students did it; usually, the cars just stopped and you never got more than an angry horn blare and maybe a vulgar gesture. This time, though, the car couldn't stop, not without causing an accident. Paramedics pronounced her dead on the scene. Said it had probably been quick."

He turned back to face Tim. "McGee, I spent the next month and a half thinking about that. If I hadn't chosen that coffee shop. If I hadn't chosen noon. Hell, if I hadn't asked her out at all. Maybe she'd still be alive. It really sucked. I felt like everyone was looking at me, blaming me for this. I fell into this slump."

"So how'd you get out of it?"

"My dad, believe it or not."

That surprised Tim. Though he had never met the elder DiNozzo, everything Tony had said about him indicated that he was a less than ideal father figure. "How's that?"

"I went home for Spring Break and he actually happened to be there this time. He'd just married again, so I think it was more for Carol, his new wife. He wanted to get her acclimated to the new place. I, of course, spent most of the time moping around the house. He assumed I was mad at him for getting married without telling me and decided to give me one of his 'stern father talks' about how I couldn't get angry at him for marrying again, that he was a lonely man and deserved happiness, and that I couldn't blame him for my mom's death. He kept going on and on about how things happen and how, as much as we don't want them to, sometimes we can't stop them. He said that no matter how many times you ask yourself what you could have done differently, it's not going to change how things ended up. All it's going to do is make you miss out on living your life because you're too busy wallowing in self-pity. Sound familiar?"

Tim didn't answer.

"The fact is, I didn't make Sally walk into the traffic. I wasn't even driving the car that hit her. Yes, I'm sorry that things happened the way they did, but I couldn't control what she did and I'm not going to spend my life agonizing over it. You shouldn't do that either."

"I think my situation is a little different from yours."

"I think you're full of it."

"There are people who will think this was my fault, that I manipulated her into doing this for me."

"Then they're idiots."

"I know that some of the victims' families already hate me."

"That's their problem. Besides, do you really care about the opinions of people who thought you being bullied throughout high school was no big deal?"

Tim raised an eyebrow and fought back a smile. "You're not exactly one to talk, DiNozzo."

"Hey, I may have my faults—not many, of course—but even I know where to draw the line. Dunking heads in toilets? Please. I'd just end up getting my hands dirty. I prefer sneakier forms of hazing."

"True," Tim conceded.

Tony's pleasant grin slipped away, replaced by a smaller, pensive smile. "Hey, McGee, I…you know, if I ever _did_ do something that bad…I'm sorry."

"You're not supposed to apologize."

"Gibbs isn't here. Besides, I think the occasion calls for it."

"Well, thanks. I mean, you can be pretty bad at times."

"Yeah, I know. Just…don't take it personally."

"I'll try not to."

"And I know I'd been laying on the jackass tendencies a bit thicker during the investigation. I guess that was just my misguided attempt to keep you from dwelling on everything going on. I thought if I could make you angry at me, you wouldn't have time to be angry at yourself."

This time a small smile did manage to break through on Tim's face. "Thanks. I did need that. But can I ask you something?"

"Fire away, McGoo."

"I'm not exactly one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?"

"Well, I could say it's because you've had a crappy week and this case has given me a glimpse into your hellish high school experience. But mostly I figure this way I can keep your next psycho stalker from trying to kill me too."

For the first time in weeks, Tim couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

**AN: **One more chapter to go!


	42. Chapter 42

Ducky was waiting outside when Tim left Tony's room. The nurse had returned, informing both of them that Tony needed to rest and that he could have more visitors the next day. Tim promised he'd be there and even promised he would sit through the first two _Godfather_ movies with Tony.

"I hope all is well?" Ducky asked.

Tim nodded. He had a strange look on his face. "Yeah…it was good. I needed that."

"I agree. I'm glad you came. Shall we go home?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not yet. I still have to do one more thing."

"And what is that?"

Tim was silent. He didn't want to say what it was; he knew Ducky wouldn't approve.

Ducky waited patiently for Tim to respond. He saw the abashed expression cross Tim's face and it clicked in his mind. "Timothy, no," he said firmly.

"I have to."

"You do not have to. You need to leave well enough alone."

"I have to know, Ducky. I have to understand why."

"You know why, as unpleasant as it may be. I don't think this will do you any good."

"Maybe not, but…but I know I need this, just like I needed to talk to Tony." Seeing the older man's concern, he added, "I need closure, Ducky. I promise I won't be long."

"She is a manipulator," he warned. "Be very careful. You must not let her get into your mind."

"I won't, I promise."

"Would you prefer I come in with you?"

Tim shook his head. "I want to do this alone."

"Are you certain?"

"I'm not a kid, Ducky. I can handle it."

Ducky sighed in resignation. "Yes…I suppose so." He wasn't happy with Tim's bizarre request, but he knew he could do nothing to stop it. Tim's jaw was tightly set in determination. He didn't have the same stubborn streak that many of his co-workers had, but when he wanted something badly enough, he made sure he got his way. This was one of those times. "I will wait outside should you need me. And, Timothy, be alert: Miss Schultz has become physically aggressive many times in the past few days. I don't recommend getting within arm's length."

Tim had no intention of getting any closer to her than necessary. He wasn't even sure why he had decided this was so important to him. If someone had asked him to visit with her even two hours prior, he would have balked. But now it seemed like the only answer, the only way to truly move on from this.

* * *

There was nothing on TV. Not that it mattered to Imogene. She wasn't a big fan of television. She preferred to be alone with her own thoughts; they were far more entertaining.

The handcuffs were beginning to chaff, something that was further exacerbated by her constant yanking at them, trying in as many different ways she could think to slip them off. So far she'd had no luck. But she wasn't a quitter.

She heard the door knob turn. It was probably that buck-toothed nurse coming in to check her wound. With luck, she could grab a scalpel and jab it into the nurse's chest. She didn't particularly hate the nurse, nor did she particularly like her, but she needed to get the pent up anger out. Besides, with the nurse incapacitated, she might stand a chance at getting out.

When the door opened, her eyes darkened; for the person standing before her wasn't some ugly nurse, but, rather, the person who, in one split second, had gone from being the love of her life to being the bane of her existence. He looked just as he had that night. The only difference was that the bags under his eyes seemed to have gotten larger.

She hoped it was because of her.

"What the hell do you want?"

Tim stood in a stony silence, not sure what to say to her. His mind was a smorgasbord of emotions, ranging from anger to fear to sympathy even. She looked quite pitiful lying there in the hospital bed, locked in place by the twin handcuffs.

"Are you going to talk or are you just going to stand there?" she asked with a snarl.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you do those things?"

Imogene rolled her eyes. "I told you. I did it for you. And now I wish I hadn't. I wish I'd just left you to the wolves. No good deed goes unpunished, huh?"

Tim almost choked in response to her comment. "G-good deed? Are you kidding me? How can you think that what you did was in any way a good deed?"

"I was performing a public service," she snapped back in retaliation. "Those men were monsters and they deserved to be put down."

"They were human beings, not animals."

"Whatever."

"No, not 'whatever.' What you did was wrong."

"And you think you have no part in it? You're the reason all of this started, remember? I'd never have known about these men if it wasn't for you."

Tim felt his resolve crumbling, felt that same self-consciousness rising up inside of him. But he stopped it just in time. He wasn't going to give her the upper-hand.

"I never asked you to do these things."

"Maybe not verbally, but you implied it."

"How?" he asked. "How did I ever give you the impression that I wanted you to kill people? Until last Friday, I had only ever talked to you once for all of three minutes."

She snorted. "Fine, deny it all you want. But you were asking for my help. The way you looked at me? The way you talked to me? You wanted me just as much as I wanted you. You saw that I was vulnerable and you used me to do your dirty work. Now I'm the one paying the price."

"You're delusional," he said softly. "I feel sorry for you."

"Fuck you and your pity. I don't need you to feel sorry for me. I feel sorry for any woman who has the misfortune of crossing paths with you. You'll use her just like you used me. I hope you cross the wrong woman one day, though; the kind who won't hesitate before putting a bullet in your brain."

He winced at the thought.

"So am I to assume you just came here to torture me? To show me how stupid I was to fall in love with you?"

"You didn't fall in love with me. I think you fell in love with the idea of me, maybe, but not with me. You couldn't have. You don't even know me."

"I know everything about you."

"But you don't know _me_. If you did, you'd never have done the things you did."

She twisted her mouth into a frown, not sure how to respond to that. She usually had a quick retort to any comment, but this one left her at a loss. "Do you dream about me?" she asked.

"Sometimes."

"Don't lie."

"Every time I've slept these past few days."

"Good. I hope I never leave your dreams."

"You will."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Just a…a gut feeling I've got." He had a half-smile on his face, more to himself than to her. "I'm going to get past this."

"So why are you here?"

The answer came to him then. "Because…" He stopped and brought his eyes up to meet hers with a steady gaze. "Because I wanted to see that the monster really wasn't that scary."

With that, he turned and walked out, ignoring the barbs she threw behind him.

Ducky smiled at him wearily as he exited. "Now, shall we go home?"

"Yeah, Ducky. _My_ home."

* * *

The last time he'd been inside his apartment, Tim had been lying on the floor with a wounded Imogene nearby and an unconscious Tony tied to the bed. Entering the place now seemed almost surreal, like something out of a dream. It looked…normal. Not at all like a recent crime scene. Abby and Kate had both come in and cleaned. They'd also taken the liberty of stocking his fridge so he wouldn't have to head out anywhere for at least a week.

"You don't have to stay here the night, McGee." It wasn't Ducky voicing his concerns this time, but Gibbs. He'd helped Tim pack the few items that had been brought to Ducky's house and had given him a ride back to his apartment.

"I'll have to eventually," he said with a wry grin "I mean, it's my apartment and I'm still paying rent on it. I may as well use it."

"But it doesn't have to be this soon. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"I'm not doing it to prove anything, boss. I just want to get on with my life."

Gibbs couldn't fault him for that. In fact, he gave Tim a lopsided grin and a gentle pat on the back. "Far be it from me to try and talk you out of it."

Tim dropped his bag at his bedroom door. He looked longingly at his bed. It was late and he was tired, not just from the day, but from the past few days, from the very moment they'd found Wickmar's body.

"Promise you'll call if you have any problems."

"I promise."

When Gibbs was gone, Tim kicked off his shoes and fell onto the bed. There were new sheets to replace the ones that had been bloodied. He would have to thank Abby or Kate or whomever had done that for him. The last thing he needed was a reminder of what had occurred atop this bed.

He reached his hand into the pocket of his pants and felt the paper that was still there. The names Dr. Clayton had given him. He'd meant to throw it away, but he hadn't, despite having many opportunities to do so. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to toss it out. Deep down, he knew why, even if he didn't want to admit it. Slowly, he drew the paper out and placed it on the night table, right beside his cell phone. He'd call the next morning. He promised himself he would.

After slipping off his clothes, he slid under the covers. He hadn't the courage to turn out the lamp yet, but he had checked to make sure the window was closed and locked. Just in case.

As he slept, he dreamt of her again, but it was different. She wasn't the aggressor anymore; she was just a sad person, grasping at any straws available, trying to make herself happy by any means possible. Tim couldn't even get past the pity he felt to even fear her.

It wasn't perfect, but for now it would do.

* * *

**AN: **And that's the end of this story! Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Just to let you know, there is a sequel in the works for this, so keep an eye out for that!


End file.
